Reminder: ask him for his favorite color

The space between our fingers
is the color of your eyes at night
and my face when I notice.
But also the first light of dawn
and sticky, peach skin,
the kind you pull with your teeth,
and the cool way you say ‘hello.’
I forget to ask for your favorite color
because I’m too busy trying to figure out
what makes you smile so big
that your eyes scrunch up.
If I remember to count
how many
it takes
for you
to kiss me
good morning—
cut that number in half, please.
I’ll teach you to get lost in the sky
but that tree branches are road maps.
You’ll bring me to that lighthouse
so I see your favorite stars.
There will be space between our fingers
and actual space
and too much space, too many breaths,
before good night.


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