fortyfive years

forty-five years. that's how long it will take for our lips to finally meet again. forty-five years until we realize planes can fly on the moon, and that watermelon and corn bread was the perfect layer of flavor for our mid-night craves and mid-aged hearts. in forty-five years the stars and moon will be the same ones we looked at on the night i swore to be yours as long as you'd have me, forty-five years before