You might be sitting with him at the kitchen table drinking coffee from mismatched mugs and saying nothing because sometimes saying nothing is the best thing to say. He’s miles away, and you’re thinking you should take a shower or fix your hair or at least brush your teeth because you feel dirty and self-conscious. You wish the sun weren’t so bright on your face and you wish there was something other than corn flakes for breakfast so your stomach won’t start making hideous noises. You’re about to open your mouth and say something to break the silence, but he speaks first. He tilts his head slightly and says:
I want the honeymoon-type of love,
where butterflies still swarm in my stomach
and a hint of hesitation stumbles from your lips on mine.
There’s that giddiness and freshness
surrounding us in our own bubble.
You with your bright eyes.
Me with my adoring smile.
I want the passionate and intense love,
where it’s just you, me and endless white sheets
under the pale moonlight.
Raw desire and eager lust are surging in my veins
as we get drunk in our intoxicating love.
You with your smoldering eyes.
Me with my eager smirk.
I want the slow, tender love,
where sunsets find their way in our hearts
and sparks still emit from our lips.
We’ll slow dance beneath the twinkling stars,
losing ourselves in our dear love.
You with your warm eyes.
Me with my content smile.