three months into forever

We put the duet of a hammock in between two skinny trees, and my girlfriend tells me the story of how they cut down the small ones so the bigger ones could grow taller. I grow tall enough to kiss her beneath a dreaming tree—in the shade. But the more stories she tells me—and the older I get, and the younger my spirit—the more tall-enough I am to kiss her in an open field—and the more love that I feel, and the more dreams that I hold closer than what a duet of a hammock requires us to hold each other. And the biggest secret is: if there is no children’s book about the story of how a little mustached tree can melt an entire winter (of sadness), then I will dream one up for us.