I like getting up in the morning, to hug you, standing at the stove. You cut the fruit and sometimes give the pieces over his shoulder. I like to meet you after work and to invite to unchanging coffee, though only recently acquainted. I like that you can walk by the hand with you, about anything not thinking, enough talking. I like the joy of children, and the voice like when you talk about something that enraptured you.You knock with your finger the music on my knee, we have headphones, your lips singing along to the passing landscape. We know all the corners of houses and streets. I like how you choose my clothes. You won’t let me go to the bathroom, if I was late. In the middle of his sentence I understand that you’re looking at me, but not hear it because I’m staring at my words. Like to remember the time when we accidentally made each other the same gifts. Love how I work, if you’re sitting next to. As photographed from the window of the parade and shout people down. As your movement from my shirt bounce two buttons. I like to hold a toy fire theatre fire, and prepare you burnt popcorn