And I think in this lifetime, love is listening to you explain what the different drivers on my computer are for

I’m not going to remember this in an hour,

but I will never forget your eyes,

like the cannons in Tchaikovsky’s “1812 Overture”
thundering over the heat of the orchestra,

or how we sprinted through the tall grass, grasping hands,
while gunpowder glittered in the sky,
and I think

loving you means I could listen to you read the yellow
pages without skipping a beat,

I could listen to you read the yellow pages and write a
brilliant, lub-dubbing poem that makes E.E. Cummings
come alive in the maggot dust of his grave, and I think

in this lifetime my love is proficient in necromancy,

my love—the architect of assembling soil caked skeletons to
hold you with their boney arms when I am unable,

and god, i could listen to you recite Pi as we traverse the
edge of infinity,

could listen to you recite every single digit while touching
myself; my sopping fingers shriveling and prining like
plump little craisins added to the salad for family dinner;

and with you I could spend every afternoon studying how
beige paint dries on the walls;

with you the wifi wheel could spin indefinitely, and I
would not refresh the tab a million and one times;

with you I’d unplug the ethernet cord from my
spine.

By Laura Jean Henebry @betweenthelinesandspaces, Instagram