Hypothetical Continuity
If I can get my paycheck early,
and you can get your paper in,
then we can make a run to Tremblant and rent a chalet this weekend,
your legs snuggling in between mine like roots in the night,
my arms wrapping around you like branches in our bedgrove.
If I can get these taxes done
and you can get that baby quiet
then we can have eleven minutes together with the fire before Nightline,
your lips on my neck erasing any cliché of the moment,
my snifter of port notwithstanding.
If I can get the driveway shoveled
and you can get the lunches made,
then we can hug for a deep second in the open doorway,
your toes curling against the cold to pinch the rug,
my mittens nestling into your robe to pinch your bum,
our hearth fire melting the chill from the door into perpetuity.
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