being like this

is there anything better
than a glass

of ice cold water on a sweltering
summer day,

I ask her, pouring the pitcher
into
our tall glasses.

dropping in a slice of lemon.

she smiles and sips her drink.

not that I can think of, she says.

the sun
is on her face, her arms
are long
against the table.

her legs are folded in her chair.

can we stay like this for a while,
she says, finding my eyes.

just drinking our water, and not saying
much?

yes, I tell her.

of course.
being like this, is enough.

it's more than enough, she says.