fish lips

When I was 5

love was

hand-holding and fish lipped kissing in

grandmas blue wagon under the apple tree.

When I was thirteen love was

football games attended just to see

them under the bleachers.

When I was sixteen love was

driving windows down

and short kisses with too much tongue.

When I was 19 love was lights off clothes off,

but it was also laughing with friends,

finding God in the trees,

deep cries and the ache of “almost”.

At 20 love is full inhales,

hand held cries,

leaps into faith

lights through trees

sighs of relief,

It’s “I forgive you” and

“I don’t know” and

“I really fucking hope so”

It’s water settling after the strong breeze

Picking up broken branches and planting new

trees

Its discovery,

and play,

and poetry only spoken

through looks tossed your way

It’s “oh nothings”

And long traces down backs

And longing after 64 hours (and counting)

When I’m 22 I hope love is

comfy nights and take out.

I hope it’s dancing on rooftops and

grocery shopping.

I hope it’s spending the night together and

making breakfast in the morning.

It’ll be road trips and meeting parents and strong

“yeses”.

I hope it’s a choice.

I hope it’s not just a feeling,

but a decision made,

every day,

a commitment beyond the sensations,

a knowing,

that even words can’t touch,

as simple as breathing