I want to bake cookies with you,
grab your fingers as you snatch the dough
when you think I'm not looking, get sidetracked with warm
whisper-breaths and lose the
idea of time until the bell over the stove rings
and reminds us of what we're
supposed to be doing and us not
giving a hell's chance in Judean deserts.
We'd exchange rueful glances but
smiles would tilt our faces and we'd go through with our plans, failure
be fucked, and march our mouths
through a few pitiful end products
before tossing the rest in trash. And the regret
would be half-assed cuz we
would love each other, dammit, we'd love each other

so

damn

much

it'd be the best it could be
before the way things that good fall apart
wrapped its arms around us until the loathing set in.
You'd give me the biggest grin in your book and it'd be the
best gift you could ever give
me

because
in this perfect-not-perfect world I make you laugh the way
you already do for me;
in this world when you say "I love you" you'd
mean it in the scariest way possible, the kind that
I told you about and lost and am starting to find again-
and it'd be wonderful.
God, it'd be wonderful.