PIEL DE MIEL

llena de amor

you ask if i feel our love as purely as you do, cooking sunny-side eggs at five in the morning, in the apartment of your best friend's older brother, after the moon stole all of our breath with her crackling electricity. you ask if i feel our love as purely as you do, painting your nails the color you make my lips after you've shared your tongue's secrets with them, walking around on our tip-toes trying not to paint the room the pigment of others' imaginations. you ask if i feel our love as purely as you do, rolling around on the creaking sofa and giggling at the spilled rum from between my lips, laughing harder when your best friend's brother's roommate's boyfriend yells at us for making the cushions all sticky with our candied saliva. you ask if i feel our love as purely as you do, limbs intertwined like the vines crawling up the window, listening to the birds creating a melody from outside the glass exclusively for our enjoyment. you ask if i feel our love as purely as you do, my back on the scratchy cotton as your maroon nails scratch world-famous sketches onto my thighs, hair going frizzy against what i wish was charmeuse silk as you write a love story between my legs. you ask if i feel our love as purely as you do, your head resting on my lap after we've danced the waltz to van halen, hearts beating almost as strongly as the guitar still singing a cacophonous song from the thin walls of the guest bedroom.

you ask if i feel our love as purely as you do, sitting on the top of the stairs with my head on your shoulder and asking if this is enough for me.

my answer will always be yes, my love, mi amor, mi reina, because your cotton-candy-sweet dreams about us tomorrow and next week and next year are enough to keep my imagination satiated until we can turn your dreams into reality.