Waiting

One day, I will write a poem about you.

I will write about your whatever hair

and your deep brown-blue-hazel-green-grey eyes.

I will write about how attractive I find you.

I will write about your toes,

because you’re the only one

whose toes I love.

I will boast about the good you are doing

in your whatever career.

I will tell my girlfriends

everything you secretly want me to say

but protest to all the same.

I will write about your hands.

We will travel.

We will visit places,

and we will take pictures

to show to all our friends

when we return home,

victorious.

We will read in bed,

and we will watch movies

until our eyes grow heavy

and we melt into each other.

We will listen carefully

and think even more carefully,

and then speak with utmost care.

We will pick out Christmas presents

like our lives are on the line:

a beautiful whatever

for your beautiful mother.