A Sip


As Fall comes I think of things to do with you:
A walk
A talk
A coffee or two
But I don’t drink coffee, surely you know that now. I drink tea and hot chocolate and lemonade and iced tea and lately a lot of root beer (which is new).

I wonder what else will change in the changing of me. The changing of me with me and the changing of me with you.
What a mystery and not one so frightening, that things will be different in a year.
In six months.
In three.
The holidays will come and go, will you be there with me? I hope so. I hope so much that you will, and yet the idea makes me panic mostly because I’m not sure if you drink as much tea and coffee as me and if not, what then will we do together while I try and get you to spill you secrets into my open cup.

I think about the teacups Mom bought me for my first apartment in Cleveland. The ones with ladies on them. Ladies with butterflies and birds and cut out letters. Ladies who said things about being happy, finding peace. I miss those teacups and saucers. They are packed away safely in paper, sleeping I think until I can sip peppermint from them again.

And then I think of how it feels to kiss you.
How when you kiss me back it is almost as if you are taking tiny sips from my bottom lip. As though the flavor you most desire lives there and as I soften my lip against yours, how the hum in the sound in your throat is as constant as a kettle boiling. I’m pretty sure there is steam rising from my ears by the time you take your hands away from my face. My cheeks pink with warmth.

I’m pretty sure I love you down to the very last drop.

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