my happiness looks like this:
three staffordshire bull terriers that keep stealing all the blankets on the bed,
and a fourth back at my mother’s home who cannot contain his excitement when i visit
grey winter morning light leaking in from behind the blinds—
i hate winter and i should be asleep,
but still my happiness includes this:
the hours i lie awake,
still insomnia ridden as i was when i used to write the nights away in sorrow,
but now
i watch videos of people who like the same pretty colours and the same pretty furniture as i do,
decorating their houses and building
useful things
i put a little more spare cash into my savings each week
and squirm impatiently for our first home together
ours. mine and his.
the main picture in my montage of happiness
is the man lying next to me, sound asleep
an arm cuddled around our oldest girl,
both of them snoring and snuffling in their slumber
sounds i loathed from other people
are sounds i cherish from him.
i kiss the tip of his nose,
each cheek,
the curve of his forehead,
the point of his chin
and settle one more on soft, lax lips
my words don’t feel so beautiful
because all life’s beauty, i find in him.
i don’t have poeticism to spare for writing
when all my love letters are spoken to him
and he embodies everything beautiful
from eyes to smile to skin
down to the soul within
