tell me you love me: tea brought to me
on cut out doilies, napkins
like sleeping birds, wings folded
flat on a tray. Mouthwash bottles filled,
kitchen counters wiped clean and dishes
put away after every meal. Your need
to rest my feet on your lap and rub them.
And your greeting: “Hello beautiful.”
“Have I told you this morning that I love you?”
I love the way you shine your flashlight on stairs before
I step down and the way you hold my hand
though darkness steps between you and the sky,
and you can barely make out the stars
through the clouds in your eyes
slowly taking your vision.
I love our night walks, your hand
in the small of my back
as your long stride keeps us moving
past the boats swaying in the harbor
on the island of houses with blinking lights.