I’m on my third boyfriend since I wrote my last love poem.
The one about having your babies.
The one where you paint the ceiling with stars and we mark the wall for the growing family.
The one about how crazy I am.
Last night was our fourth date. He asked me what color eyes our children might have.
Green. They would be green. Neither of us have a trace of blue in our veins.
We got in a fight between our first and second date. I have been a trick birthday candle. He has finally stopped trying to blow out the flame.
I know a man is trying to love me when he talks about loving everything else.
The word grows in his vocabulary like a brave crocus, testing the sunlight of my heart.
Oh yes, he loves the spring. He loves the way my hair is falling right now, loves my earrings, loves Twin Peaks, too.
"Sweet dreams, love."