1/25/13
I like the way you fit me
like the worn square on the pocket of my jeans,
like the pen in the smooth groove of my finger.
We are scuffed in all the right places
and together we know all the words.
The thoughtless motions, gears of habit
(I always have things just the way I mean)
adjusted me to such a frequency,
and before I knew it was different,
I was pleased.
The coins go in the jar, and the phone
must be with the chapstick on the night stand
before I can sleep.
We lay out our days in each other’s hands.
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