I hope morning is only a suggestion.I hope we linger in bed to memorizeSpring spilling warm sky outside,a collage of our lives as rose-lit.
I hope you kiss my neck after coffee.I hope your mouth lands on some reminder,that we sigh and sing a thousand renditionsof what it meant to be unbroken.
I hope winds carry boats across the harbor.I hope we can peer inside sealed buildingson our drive through the bends in the cityand the dark tunnels muffle your grief.
I hope time massages you with prayer.I hope our children fuss and scrape kneesso you soothe them with your quiet hands,and we all forget the dead.
I hope you at least let me hold your hand.I hope your fingers unclench just long enoughto forgive mine for being slightly cold,and you remember how to warm them.
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Photo by Ave Calvar on Unsplash