This is

This is my shirt

remember when I wore it last, the soft cotton slipping over my skin.

It was not cold that night,

and we had one blanket to share.

This is my shirt

remember when you felt the smooth fabric of its inner side

your hand slipping over my skin.

This is my face, my hair, tangled with uncertainty

And when you asked if this

was the end of the world

I stopped your words with my lips.

This is your mouth

smooth salt I had tried so hard not to kiss,

though we both saw this inevitable advance,

it was in our smiles that night

and we had one blanket to share.

This is my shirt

remember how we paused to wonder, muffle our voices in the dark.

This is the sleeve, the collar, your lips

and oh this is your face slipping over mine.

This is not the end of the world,

but this is how I’d like to spend it.