I want you to be my mistress for a lifetime.
I don’t want to carry the weight of the world with you,
or perpetually and publicly rearrange life’s building blocks
with a goal in mind.
That would be a waste of magic.
I want to sneak into your apartment when there is a blackout,
where you have lit candles and wait for me,
naked under a blanket,
our bodies greet each other with a warm shiver,
refugees from the dutiful, the routine.
We preserve our sense of wonder as if it is life itself,
We will not get in line and march,
We will not waste the magic.
