Crown, cage or casket.

I see her eyes light when they catch sight of mine, I see her smile break to a laugh, I see her cheeks flush as I pull her to me, I see the sunlight break through the blinds and hear her soft sighs of comfort, I study every shy subtle movement of the mouth in delight, I feel time skip to our fancy and her face become familiar as a well worn memory, I hear laughter and anger and comfort, I see mine turn to ours, hours turn to weeks, still flush her cheeks when I, I becomes we, we make plans and burn pans, well, she makes plans and I burn pans, I can't cook rice for shit, she plans for white dress and black tie, for humble rural house and dog not on leash, shaved cedar siding and laid stone walkway, belly bumps and barbecues, she dreams pleasant warm and content, but I read pleasant, warm and content as placid, waning and contrite, I in good times become anxious for good to go bad, feel I don't deserve, am not able, perhaps even willing to dream with her, feel humble house and barbecues hostile to me, certainly I to them, but not I to her, but if not her and all that, what is it I want?

To my lot falls crown, cage or casket, forget all the rest.