I would like you in the morning, like nothing else.
We'd have a conspiracy of connection before 9 a.m., a hand on your waist while the Cream of Wheat bubbled on the burner, a (single) loud slurp of my coffee, a roll of your grinning eyes, toasting a bagel, spreading the sky.
Our day cracks open between the friendship of our fingertips. The history of our lives celebrated daily through common acts of courtesy.
Growing old together happens on Tuesdays, not just on birthdays.
This word "love" is overused, seems to me. It's lost much of its meaning. What is the main ingredient of loving you if not liking you? Enjoyment would be ours together in the morning. I would wake up to be with you. I would like you like a motherfucker in the morning.