I’ll write us into a book and I’ll title it in a blank leather-bound cover with our initials scrawled in the corner like dandy lion promises.

I know forever is too big for human mouths and that the stones under my shoes in the creek know more about love than my peach skin (half-crafted from star-dust and deep sea sediments) (half forged from spring-dew grass).

I know that.

I want to tell you I have tasted forever in your lips.

Forever is smooth like glass marbles in a stream or chair tea steamed in almond milk. Smoother like your thumb over my pebble cheeks.

I make forever from our goodnights and goodmornings and the dog-eared pages between each sun-cycle.

I’ll write us into a book with a blank leather bound cover secretly titled “an approximation of forevers.”

I’ll be the preface and you can be the denouement.