Slowly

I keep stopping

to stare at the flowers

growing in on the cracks in the sidewalk.

Your hand’s in mine,

and your laughter is warmer

than the sunlight kissing my skin.

It’s easy, isn’t it?

You and I?

Easier than we thought it’d be.

It’s good

and right and real,

and I’m losing myself already.

But at least I’m doing it slowly.