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.