So this is the drive to a honeymoon.
There are foggy windows and a hand on a thigh. There are absolutely zero rest
stops and there is a late hotel check-in. There are two people and they are
staring at the street in front of them, as it winds up beneath the car, like a
film reel reaching its end. There is a soft score playing on the radio and
there is a familiar humming.
So this is a Sunday morning together.
There is a long walk to the café and there is black coffee to pair with sweetener
and cream. There is a rosy barista and there is a smiling couple to pair with
two piping-hot drinks. The two smiling halves are one part of the world’s whole
cup, but they float on their own sugar cube.
So this is sleeping in with someone.
There are Hallmark “bests” and “wishes” torn in two on the floor, and there sit
the dollar-amount insides – neatly stacked on a bedside table. There are legs
stacked on top of one another on a bed, like kindling. There is a fire always
starting and then there is the comfortable gnaw of hunger. The crackling duo
calls for pizza and when the man asks his wife
what she would like, a match is lit. There is a white-hot understanding.
So this is what a new name feels like. So
they can jump in the fire, and come out
intact.
