We get caught in the middle of a rainstorm, which is how every romance either begins or ends. I speak your name like its my native language. We fishtail braid our bodies together. Sometimes I leave my tongue inside you. Sometimes the anger takes claim of my being and starts slamming doors and silent-treating you or yelling about your ex-girlfriend. It's soft and then it's a little bit harder. It's easy and then I get uncomfortable when you kiss my shoulder. You play possum when you hear my key in the door. We get bored of each other. We get un-bored. I hate you and then you wear socks to bed. I hate you and then I'm desperate to touch you. I stop you half way down the stairs, hook myself around your waist, rock every so slowly until we're happy again. Until there is laugher again. It should be like this. Laughter. Forget serious looks, forget my wannabe sexy sashay out of my blue jeans. Smile with all your teeth. All your crooked, beautiful teeth. Keep smiling. Except for when you really can't summon the energy. Then you can wear your grumpy face and I'll make you scrambled eggs with milk. I know it's your comfort food. I know your mother makes it better. It's okay, I won't get upset about it. I'll call her up and tel knee she raised you extraordinary. Tell her I've sent a bouquet of lilies to her house, addressed to the C-section scar that got you here. I do strange things like this and it bothers you sometimes. You stop inviting me out with your friends. You apologise for my behaviour at parties. Take me home early. Feel ashamed of yourself when I cry in the bathrooms. Play a Jack Johnson CD til' I come out puffy-eyed and childlike. Huh me bear-tight. Stroke my hair for half an hour. It's okay. It's okay that I slam doors sometimes. It's okay that we get bored. It's okay that you get embarrassed of me. I'm still going to touch you lightning hot. We're still going to make the same bad jokes. You're learning to say sorry without making excuses. Sure, I love you. Sure, it gets hard. And then it gets softer. Then there's your mouth at my nape again. Then my skin melts at the splash of your tongue. Oh, is it raining? Only we make the choice. We begin. We begin. We begin.
