i want to see you in the summer i want to see you sweating on roller-skates and sand
i want to burn every sheet of paper bearing my address until the ash is tall enough to live in (or at least coat myself with— maybe then i could finally call myself a shadow) too callow, too bright-eyed to know anything of life and love but i can certainly try
i would like not to exist in any phonebook or on any pay slip i do not want my name to slow dance with anyone except you
i want to see you in the summer and the winter and the fall and if they all forgot our names if a storm cloud gulped us up and whisked us away i could spend another winter immersed in you a winter, a spring, a summer or two i could keep you warm engulf you like a wildfire and whisper like one, too (my spine cares not if it spends the rest of its life pressed against the bed and your belly)
if you have any regrets (or if fear starts plucking out strands of your hair, or dyeing your eyebrows grey) i will tuck them in my sleeve (though we can talk about them, first) i will devour every time your heart ever skipped a beat and i will squeeze every time your hands were shaking into a shoe box and bury them (i think if we leave them underground for long enough something wonderful starts to bloom)
i want to see you in the spring so we can watch it sprout through damp, springy earth and rain coat hoods only in primary colors ineffable hues painting the backdrop with how june first felt
and in the fall, when they come looking for me you can tell them i’ve gone somewhere far away (it won’t really be a lie)
but for now, i want to see you in the summer the rest can wait