here is one poet's idea of bliss: "one grand boulevard with trees, with one grand cafe in sun, with strong black coffee in very small cups. one not necessarily very beautiful man or woman who loves you. one fine day."
for me, for now, this is how it would be: you, having just showered, towel around your slight waist, cracks open the window. morning light spilling into the room. i, pretending to still sleep.
you would creep into the bed. your still wet torso drying up as you'd rub against my fevered body. a morning breeze sings and we'd hear cars crushing leaves on the road.
you'd seek out my lips and i'd turn away, smelling toothpaste in your breath. i'd hear you snicker and give up, just plop down beside me. then, i'd listen to your heavy breathing as you ponder on calling in sick for the day.
