Lying about Smiling

There was no sun but the wind
Carried the morning on her back
And came in through the window.
I was lying
Smiling, and then I half-opened
A lazy-lidded eye to see you
Smiling, too.
It would have been too difficult
To explain why I was when you asked.
If I’d said, for example’s sake, go-carts,
Bruno the Brazilian, high-moused helium
Voices, said Birthday or Balloons,
To say I arrived at the smile through
Naming conventions, the first name,
then the last… to say, while lying there,
I was smiling about the waspy flavor
of your last name. And then swelled
back into exoticism, hence Bruno.
Anything other than “smiling at you”
would sound somehow unromantic.  
Childish, even – the place of big-lipped,
Toothy grins. So I lie there.
And I close the slotted lazy-lidded eye
And fall back inside, half-dreaming,
Thinking, this must be what happy means.