There have been too many harsh words of late,
too much rushing about, too much to be done
—too much, too much, too much.
This night let soft rain falling on leaves
be the only sound in our ears
This night let the gentle pull of the ground win out.
This night let there be just enough to actually enjoy:
your arm around my belly, pulling me in close,
your breath warming the back of my neck.
This night let there be a word or two whispered every hour,
but only when needed.
Most times, a nuzzle is enough.
I could die this way, and be content.
And when the time comes,
I think I will.