The fact that your predetermined crow’s feet
Tickle your temples.
That your cracked leather seats
Hold the smell of dryer sheets and my perfume.
The fountain we watched blossom from blue to crimson,
A flame ignited by falling liquid.
The makeshift bench on an empty lot,
Eight legs standing on a precipice,
In more ways than one.
The vibration of your chest shrouding me from my own thoughts
As I sang you my favorite song.
That you picked me up from the airport,
And let yourself scream my name through terminal three,
Despite the fact that I did not know I loved you yet.
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