i scrawled confessions of my love all over an empty, crumpled box of cornflakes, with a black sharpie marker. over the course of the next few weeks, it migrated slowly around to behind the computer monitor, forgotten garbage. you came over one day, and in your search for a particular cd, found the box and read the confession, while i prepared tea and a tray of biscuits. my heart filled my throat as i walked in the room and caught you reading it. the tea pot chattering on a tray, cookie crumbs falling from the corners of my mouth. you looked at me like you already knew and wanted to set a date. i stuffed the cornflakes box in the trash can, and then i hid behind the fine bone china tea cup, smiling in release. words aren't real until someone else reads them.

i know what i want

you asked what i would like (not with your words but with your eyes) and i told you with a secret handshake these few things:
one (1) large chocolate milkshake with two (2) straws so we (two) can share
a single (one/1) hand of yours in mine still cold from the condensation on the glass as we walk five (.....) or six (******) blocks
to a warm room furnished sparsely in early salvation army decor
3 (three) hours on a threadbare chesterfield and those same three (3) hours spent with my head in your lap
(looking ceilingward, dirty bird)
while you read several (more than one) chapters from a book we (2) both love
and seven (lucky) kisses placed
on my (single) pair of eyes
the corners (2) of my mouth
the hollow (0) at the base of my throat
and the rest where you will.
once i was finished with telling you this (silent in that sea of hundreds) you said something else:
five (5) fingers slipped from mine
eyes (two) fell from gazing heavenward (into mine)
back to earth (sticky floors)
and lips (2) that moved "yes", but when your body (singular) slipped away
you said you were going (somewhere else) to
rest where (with who) you will.