You have already promised me too much

Nights in Paris, tucked tight under the covers

As crisp air sashays through the open window

to stroke my bare skin

And afternoons in the Thailand sunlight

Shopping for cocoa and pineapples in the street market

Below yellow stone buildings with their black balcony railings

The world around us heavily salted

With the faint scent of mango

You promised me our own orphanage in Uganda

Dust lingering in the air

While we kick a soccer ball with the small child who just arrived

His smile the most jarring and desperate reminder of love

You promised morning drives through Virginia’s mountains

The whale-gray clouds in the distance

Lit by the streetlights of nearby valley towns

The emerald shrubs and rock faces flooding my vision

You promised a drive to the West Coast

In an old Volkswagen bus plastered with gaudy stickers

And riding along in the console

The old coffee cups you bought for me last summer

On your annual family trip to Edisto Island

And if I’m not mistaken I have been promised

a night in the California forest

Near a cliff that drops off into wild waves

Breaking against the basalt like liquid crystals

Me in my off-the-shoulder yellow sundress with daisies

splattered across the worn chiffon 

And you in that Hurley Tee I gave you for your 17th birthday

Both of us barefoot and holding hands

Our friends lounging in hammocks behind us

And one final promise

This time in the form of a vow