in study glass jars that clink together
when we do our morning exercises,
shivering then sweating in front of the furnace.
Deck the garage with boxes still packed,
the kitchen stove with snickerdoodle dust,
the recycling bin with pinot noir empties
from the less than $20 shelf.
Deck the tree with action figures and trading cards
and deck the deck with native succulents.
Deck the library with fingertip-smashed silverfish
and a fresh black frame
for a Fitzergerald summation of love everlasting.
Deck my earlobes and collarbones with costume jewelry
that didn't make the cut for our wedding
but put in an appearance at the company holiday party.
Deck the bed with slippered toes that slip back in,
with sheets still warm and your cheek on mine
is flushed and rough.
Deck the nights with short stark whispers,
the mornings with strong espresso and imprecise kisses,
and the weekends with catching up and falling back.
Deck the entire next year of our life
with planning the rest of our life,
but deck the hallowed moments
with the hollow at the base of your throat
where I swear God meant my lips to land
when he sculpted the length of my legs.
Deck the winter air
with laughter at the squirrels outside our bedroom window,
with the reminder I love you that ping-pongs between us,
and with the scents of fir trees and Fitzgeralds and furnaces.
