Being in your room without you is sweeter than bitter.
The smell of your Akira shirt with a neck hole “too big” you say
(the one I wear to bed)
Your records standing still on your shelf
(in alphabetical order)
The PS5 off
(So I can know peace)
I don’t want to go on about that intoxicating love,
Rather the silence and the still.
The inhale and the exhale of two sleeping side by side
The tapping of keyboards from across the room
Playing a record we both have yet to consume.
I don’t want you to come home yet,
My feet are still throbbing sore from work.
You’ll keep me awake with laughter
Even though I’d rather sleep than smile.
Take that not as a complaint,
But rather a preference for lifestyle.
You know,
I can’t really write about you when we’re in the same room.
I think it’s the “boyfriend air”.
But I’ll cut my hair in the bathroom while you work away on your screen
Afraid for you to see the look on my face while I type
But not afraid to change identities.
Is it even possible for you to see all of me?
If you knew it all, wouldn’t that be a monopoly?
I wonder how much room in your head and in your heart, you have for me.
Enough room to have the code to the front door,
Enough room to wash all the dishes to surprise you before you get home
Enough room to interrupt me while I write, sitting up in your bed
Precisely why I don’t want you to come home yet.