F.A.Q

Do your bones creak and ache in the morning
as your origami feet fold to meet the floor
when you get out of bed, like mine do?

How is it when you brush your wood stained curls
off of your flower petal skin, sweet like honey
but soft like the underside of maple leaves in July?

I wonder if the strings and seams of your cotton and denim
recognize their fortune as they form to fit you, perfectly.
& if the muscle and bones 'neath your skin are grateful
to be yours, as you tuck my hair behind my ear.

I want to play astronomer, and map constellations
out of the freckles that spill over your cheeks and nose
like sprinkles atop a soft serve ice cream cone.

Do the vibrations waving through your vocal chords,
this phonetic group of butterflies making their way
through your parted teeth and lips, and into my
nervous stomach know that they turn the marrow
in my knees to gelatin?

I frequently ask myself these questions,
when we're driving and I watch
as you drop your cigarette out the window
the bright burning orange growing smaller
in the mirror out the passenger side of your car.