the inevitability of wrinkled bedsheets

under the pillow fort

under the pillow fort

we read classic novels

from jane austen and dickens

we speak in faux accents

and make ourselves laugh

at how silly we are

under the pillow fort

we kiss late at night

and we always bring flashlights

but we never turn them on

under the pillow fort

you smile at me

and point to places on a map

places you want me to take you

places for us to go

under the pillow fort

we nap on a sunday afternoon

in each other's arm

and then we wake up to the smell of smoke

because the cookies are burning

(we eat them anyway)

under the pillow fort

we have a secret

that we can't stop smiling about

we're elated

and we can't wait to tell everyone

but for now

we'll keep it to ourself