I can see the condescension in your eyes,
So y’all might as well go ahead and say it:
My love is cute.
I’m not ashamed of it.
There’s nothin’ wrong with happiness,
And cute ain’t a thing to be embarrassed about.
My love is formal clothes and spontaneous laughter,
Classical ballet and Shakespearean references,
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
My love is brunch in bright, sunny diners.
On special occasions it’s breakfast in bed
And not having to choose between your favorites.
My love is trying to eat the ice cream before it melts,
Splitting funnel cake that covers everything with powdered sugar,
And then debating where to go for dinner.
My love is waking up in the middle of the night
To the simple assurance of familiar warmth
From arms and feet barely touching.
My love is the ecstatic sexual celebration of intellectual exploration
(And if y’all can’t identify with that then you’re doing something wrong–
If only from a strictly utilitarian point of view).
My love is safety and comfort and happiness,
And knowing that neither one of us
Would ever take any of these things
Or one another