Maybe ‘Dear ….’ or ‘My love’
But I always start with ‘Hi’.
Which makes it confusing to differentiate, but that’s our reset.
If you were the desert I would be a bloom, coming up for the storm rains of your smile, remaining the rest of the time a curled up secret, a seed germinating for that one glorious hour.
As yours, I’m gloriously stupid, and happy
to shake out my skirts of old angst
and skip around irritating people
who think too much
about the extravagant offenses of the day.
When you call me
your voice moving like the air itself
brushing my cheek
50 years from now I’m still going to smile that same way, for you
having stayed young somehow
in the blessed mindless giddy blur
that is me with you.