In the darkness of our bedroom, he rolls to face me
his hand coming to my hip bone and asks

What’s one of your favorite words?

Epitome. You?

Forlorn. 

The way the first “o” feels against your lips.

What’s your favorite punctuation? 

I consider the warmth of his fingers, the coolness of the wedding band and the callus just beneath it from where his hand curves when he writes.

A semicolon.

When two halves
of a sentence could,
stand alone &
be just fine
and yet when
they come together
they’re fulfilling.

What about you?

A colon. 

When what follows
highlights what is
already known.