Originally written: May 31st, 2019

Hopeful melancholy comes lying down,
as the sun traces your body, bare
for no one but yourself to see.

Light a loving touch on your arm
filtered through upturned blinds,
kissing the blanket’s softness, switching
sides as lazily as the moment’s tempo allows.

What a day it’d be to hold a love like this—
to breathe each other and be as the orange sun fades.
To feel skin against skin and trace patterns
of nothing, meaning everything.