the lavender touch of eventide is reaching through the blinds ajar
they settle across your noble nose in ribbons that turn to plum and teal; if I look closer
the shade of nebula is woven into your hair and stars are born in your eyes
in my chest something you could name ‘enchantment’ warms and grows and
leaps forth!
it is not unlike the frantic and lively sprouting of flowers in springtime
it pushes through my lungs and cracks
all 12 of the ribs that can barely hold back the heart that thrums
and kneads
to your rising
oh, the hibiscus are blooming now
to meet with the rosemary in my throat, reaching for your sunny gaze
though it has not yet been a year
my sternum creaks with familiarity and my blood knows you to be true.
when your hand breaches the five-inch divide between us and your oven-warmed fingers are pressed, a blessing and benediction and boon, to my cheek
I am whispering against your palm and asking if you want to break bread with me; the words
float mischief and jest over our dinner
(hastily whipped together affair of: eggs, yolks raw and spilt, royal rich red of chili oil staining the rice beneath it; there is no bread) and
you, divine thing, unleavened with the cares of the outside world for but a moment, are laughing.

“of course,” you say. “of course.”

and my being sings that I want to do more than just break bread with you, I want to break
bones and laws and world records and cups and the sound barrier,
but for now I am content
with bread.