day 0: the height of indoor luxury

this is what i imagine it to be:

stuck indoors in late May,

everything to see out the corner window of my place.

you in a warm gray suit, in almost every sense of the phrase,

standing against the sunlight in a living room as full of color as i tried to make it.

the gold-hued couch, the comfort chair, an old coffee table,

walls full of art, frames framed by the remainder of the sparsely-cracked white paint peeking through,

and the bluebird radio on a bookshelf near the turntable, playing songs filled with whiskey sours and early urban evening.

we are late, but we forgot to where. or were we just getting back from where? or was where just here?

either way, your tie is loosened, your shoes are on the floor, and i'm on one knee with the fridge door open, rifling through the crisper for more lemons.

there is sugar water on the stove and bourbon on the counter.

i don't know what i'm wearing but...i'm pretty sure i look good. a bold glass blue body in pinstripes. the heels are off by this point.

i have room for my records to look good.

i have room for shelves and shelves of books.

i have room in my room for both of us if that's what we want later.

i have room in my veins for at least one more drink.

i have room in my belly for more laughter.

my elbow on the couch, my hand cups my forehead.

there were temples touching earlier. there are seams all over us.

there is warmth underneath my jawline as i turn my head to look at you--

and i mean, full-on look--

the sunset behind the mountains behind the bay behind the hill underneath the city behind the rooftop next door behind you.

i have room in my vision for this sight.

bold glass blue bodies, one on the bookshelf and the other next to you,

both with humming bones.

contentment in a fantasy.

this is what i imagine it to be.