Rough Draft

I love you.
It isn't that hard really.
Just saying.
I don't mind crumbs.
I like sticking my wet finger in
shiny crystal specks I lick,
that just make me thirsty.
I drink then,
water from the faucet,
staring out the kitchen window at
the playground outside.
The swing swaying in
the advisory warning air.
Icing isn't necessary.
I take deep breaths instead.
Surely you are here somewhere.
A spoon in your hand.
Trying to figure out
why I am so hungry.
All the time hungry.
Me, winning a bite here and there
of your beauty.
Making your desires my own
without even so much as a prayer.
All I'm saying is,
all I'm trying to say is,
I love you.
It's easy really,
when there is no decision to be made.
When the fading sunlight shoots patterns
on the back of my hands,
when cool is coming down
but I'm warm in places,
when the door is ajar
and I can hear the locusts
high warble--
a song for us.
An unsteady, kindling
of sound
akin to my assemblage of words.
Just simply saying,
I love you.