So I Love You the Most When

So I love you the most when? Is it then, when in sleep you turn in need: dark, lithe limbs entwining, rasping- a little rough, like once-used sandpaper? Or maybe then, when you call me again and then, again: first on that maroon and black yesterday's telephone- business-like trills; next on my brand new cell- old Hindi lovesongs; then again on my iPad- this time, ' The Moon and I'? What you say, doesn't matter. What I hear, I don't remember. Only your deep bass floats like fragrant incense smoke suspended in still air, long after the phones have fallen silent. Or could it be then, when reading these tacky poems of mine you forward them to friends; a little bit like the 'showing-off' by proud parents of a particularly nerdy teen? Or perhaps it is simply then, when standing with friends on an evening road at its pine-shadowed bend, you rest an elbow's edge on my shoulder, content; smiling to the day's gossip?