Should Be
I stare at your almost-naked
body because I’m allowed.
Because I love
that almost-naked
body, muzzy with morning.
It’s not perfect
but just the way
a young male
body should be.
You pour the coffee
into traveling mugs –
they’re all you have.
It’s not perfect,
but just the way
a young male’s
kitchen should be.
We share
cigarettes on the porch
with our friends
and laugh at things
we did drunk
the night before.
Sun makes
our greasy hair shine,
but it doesn’t matter
because we are
young and pretty and new,
which means
we know how to be happy.
I am so glad
we know how to be happy.
Every minute it will be Sunday morning for someone different across the world.
I ask you to walk
across the country
so we can keep
this morning for hours.
You laugh and tell me
I better be a fast walker.
I lie alone now with the same sun, different spring.
I awake,
not so slow, not so pretty.
Our friends are not
sleeping on the floor,
still drunk under thick covers.
I drink coffee
in real mugs
standing in the kitchen.
I press my forehead
wondering about all
the different Sunday mornings
every minute
across the world.
