morning3
“What happens in utopia,
stays in utopia,” I said
aloud on our last day at
the beach house.
“That’s a good idea,” you
agreed, with your head on my
chest, just under my chin and
your arms pulling me closer
toward you as my fingers
glided through your hair.
“Do you hear that Janie?
No telling anyone about
what has happened, okay?”
“I’m not stupid,” was her
reply from the top bunk
above the double bed we
lay on, still half-asleep.
I smiled.
“But does that mean, when we
get back, I can't ever kiss you
again?” you asked just low
enough for me to hear as
you lifted your head up to
look at me for the first time
in almost ten minutes.
I never replied to you;
I didn’t know what to say –
or what you wanted or
expected me to say.
I should’ve replied to you.
☪
