nostalgia nap

Of all the things I do not know
And of all the things I have to learn,
I am certain of these:
You are the equivalent of ten million morning kisses,
Every number ending in four,
Full sleep cycles and lucid dreams gone well,
Twenty-six minute power naps,
Nostalgia drenched ninety’s songs,
Sun storms when nothing seems real,
New book smells and fresh brewed coffee,
Perfectly steeped tea with honey and lavender,
Arms safely draped around me while I sleep,
And hands wandering the maps on my skin.
These things I find in the crevices of your ribs and the spaces between your fingertips,
These terror inducing things that I refuse to fear,
These poetically justified pieces of you,
And the thing I find most important
Is the way you kiss me like I’d vanish if you ever stopped.
—  I know what this means.