What is this
that we’re doing:
picking
curtains for the living room;
cooking
dinner together each night;
sleeping in
the same bed, breathing the same air?
Are you a
forever kind of mine?
Or is this
just a game?
You hold my
heart in your delicately strong hand,
and you act
oblivious to that fact.
These plans
I’m making with you
I want to be
real.
This isn’t
elementary school,
and we’re
too old to be playing house.
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