We started a fire
on the deck to make smores.
The wind moved through us and
your sweater tickled me arm as I
played your favorite
songs you like to hear me sing.
You poured the wine.
Every few moments
embers would crack off their logs and we’d
both wait, just an extra second, before stomping it to death, to see if it would catch.
We saw the trees sway in the gusts
enough to topple us, if they came down.
We felt the impending rain in the
infrequent tentative nature of
early summer storms.
I saw your hand
not burned, not crushed, not wet
Tracing the rim of your wine glass
We waited for morning and hoped for dark, as the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart.