You filled the doorway with that fire-hazard of a coat
and I thought to myself,
damn I’m lucky.
Not cause of the cupboard maintenance
or the many times that I’ve taken up space in your Volvo.
Crack open the moss covered hood that you cling to
and you’re as real as a ripe Granny Smith.
Untamed and surprisingly soft.
You give of yourself,
breaking my countenance,
reminding me why I’m here.
Rain drops caress the stubble on your face
and make your eyes smile.
There’s mischief there.
Yes. Let’s do it. Let’s go.
Live life, spark fires,
howl at the moon.
Let’s live dangerously, you and I,
Never looking back.