Fetch with Coal,
      a date disguised as dog play,
      turned into talking ‘til sunrise—
      the sky shifting shades

      while we kept finding new words.

Six a.m. laughter,
    four hours of sleep,

    and it still felt like enough.

Tonight—
        spaghetti and sauce,
        the meal I’ve been promising.

Caesar too,
       though I suspect
       it won’t taste like the picture.

Tomorrow,
         a steakhouse,
   something decadent,
       something rare.

And then Wednesday waits
    with its suitcases,
    Thursday with its flights,
    I get to hang with Coal again—

    my second-favorite shadow.

It doesn’t feel grand,
         or cinematic.

It feels better.

Like quiet mornings,
       shared meals,
    simple laughter,
            and you.

Ordinary miracles,
         stacked in days,
         stitched in nights,

         quietly making everything bright.