what i want, future wife
I want to kiss you.
I want to try to find the exact perfect moment, you know, before realizing I am not controlling this.
And that I don’t want to.
That fate and momentum and love are driving.
My hands trying to get lost in your hair.
Our bodies finding their standing fit.
I bend over.
You tip toe it right up.
And our lips meet.
Just for a few moments.
To feel the explosion of energy.
Then we pull apart.
Our eyes lock.
Mine ask if you feel it too.
Yours tell me you could go for a snack, but that, yes, you feel it too.
And then we kiss.
We really kiss.
The first of so many.
I want to call you ridiculous pet names after we kiss.
The ones that you can tell aren’t planned.
And that get increasingly silly over time.
I hope that’s ok, little bear.
I want to kiss you when you’re sick.
You sneeze miles away from me and I text a “bless you.”
And when you get home and crumple in to me, I lead you to the couch, and brush your hair out of your sadsickyface. I smile with compassion and lean in.
“You’ll get sick too,” you protest weakly.
“I wonder if my affinity for line symmetry is why I’m an ass man,” I reply.
“Oh,” I continue, “I thought we were both saying things that don’t matter.”
And then I kiss you.
I want to be facing spoons.
You and me.
Our baby between us.
I nearly jump out of bed anytime either of you so much as flinch in perceived discomfort.
I kiss the baby’s noggin while I play with your hair.
Our eyes lock.
Mine don’t have any more questions.
Yours tell me everything.