Promise

I would read you poetry

in bed, as I’ve promised

you could rest you head

so softly, let the dark hair

spread across my chest

we’d drink coffee laced

with Baileys and cloud

the room with our

conversation, no worries

of miles between us,

viruses, or disease

just this moment where

time holds its water

a desire, an urge to

please a prelude

to when you

would turn to me

and I would take you.