Our life together:
planning dinner,
memorizing the route
between our kid’s school
and therapy,
trips to the pet store
for designer dog food,
buying new underwear,
tossing out the old.

Don’t get me wrong,
what we have —
roof overhead, brass in pocket,
thirty day moon —
is good, in the way
a nosebleed
is an indicator
you’re still among the living,

but

I long for the firm knock
against ribcage
of the lover wanting in.