It fits.
It just simply does.

My arm fits behind your head,
as we lie on the bed, in the glow.

Your head on my shoulder,
comfortable and light.

It fits.
It just does.

Staring at the ceiling;
at the cobweb on the fan.

Nobody cares. There are no thoughts,
just reverie, and peace. Just to be.

It fits.
It just fits.

This life with you,
and who we are.

This growth togeth...

Read and leave comments (2)

Cuts from pristine crisp yellow pages 

leading to a moonlit night 

beside the waves      

with the onomatopoeia of the lapping waters 

against your feet

and the warmth from the

fire beside

Cuts from letters

not pronouncing love

but charges for services with “friendly reminder” written in red

and an occasional congratulations 

and seasonal “vote for me”s

Read and leave comments (0)