In a month's time...

In a month's time I may feel differently,

but at the moment I am prepared to swear

that I would like nothing better that to spend

the rest of my life

picking the fallen hairs from your shoulders.

I would grow out my fingernails just for that purpose.

I would give up the ocean

for the mud puddles of your eyes.

We could move to South Dakota

and howl among the tornadoes

and stomp across the prairies

and fall asleep in each other's arms

as sweat pools in the crevices of our elbows

and crop-dusters drone overhead.

Sibohan Harrity, “Love Poem”

sweet dreams are made of this by marco rea