darling,
the last time you 
were in my bed,
our arms interlocked into some sort of
spider web adjacent shape,
you asked just what I
would do to prove my love.
in the moment I said
“I’m not one for grand gesture.”
but now seems
like the sort of occasion 
to state just what I would do.
I would make your tea with just enough honey.
I would leave the toilet seat down,
without being asked.
I would fold your clothes,
because I know how much you hate it. 
I would lasso the moon,
with shades of a George Bailey.
I would learn to sing in french,
any song you desire.
I would read you every sonnet
Shakespeare ever made,
and if you wanted,
I’d pretend I wrote them instead.
If you told me to punch,
then I would punch,
and punch,
and punch and punch and punch
at the concrete,
until my knuckles were bloody,
and until they left imperfect hearts
on the pavement where you step.
point being,
there ain’t nothing I wouldn’t do
for you my love.
now please,
come lay under my covers.
you know these mornings
have been oh so lonely
without your soul next to mine.