by Samantha Lê  

I want all your Sundays—
naked on the sofa Sundays, locking toes 
     and counting aloud your freckles.
Accidental moans from your mouth 
     skirt my lips. I say,

I want all your Sundays—
ten more sit-ups, chicken salad wraps, 
     dog-chasing relays; 
give me your nose to trace, your hair in 
     my face, your story from every angle.

I want all your Sundays—
naked on the sofa Sundays, locking toes 
     and counting aloud your freckles.

___

First published in Orchard Valley Review, (San Jose State University), San Jose, CA, Fall 2008, pp. 4.