poem: happiness

I know good things
take time—but I wish
we were already at the part
where he is texting me ‘goodnight’
and I am waking up
with his breath on my back—
that we already owned the studio apartment,
the kitchen window looking out
on cafés and city alleys,
the baby in the living room and the cats
curling around my feet.
I am standing in hazy blue,
silk jazz on the radio
making light love
to the breeze—
and he is coming home, in just five minutes—
but you know how it is,
with the traffic in this place.