Here we are, my love.
I have set the small round table –
One candle and a pot plant with a card that reads:
P.S. I hope all your dates fail.
The night is perfect, the small fire we made has grown
The waves are still tonight and its grandeur does not frighten me.
There are more terrifying possibilities.
There’s a three-part ring in my shirt pocket and I can’t stop shaking.
“Can you believe it’s been three years?”
Cupid crushes my right knee and I pray to the gods that I say it all right.
“Will you marry me?”
” I know you don’t believe in this – I just want you to believe in me.”
“I love you, will you grow grey with me?”
But the ocean and your scent are all in my head
There’s only toothpaste smell around us and I can barely breathe.
There’s still a three-piece ring in my shirt pocket
But we didn’t make it to three years.
Your tooth-brush will be going back home with you;
and you will never know that every time we brushed our teeth I imagined myself on that giant rock at the beach – asking for eternity with you,
as many times as it took for you to say yes.