My cheek on your chest, my leg thrown over your hip,
my arm wrapped around your ribs – as fiercely close as I can get to you
I can hear your heart
as you’re falling asleep
and in my own drifting drowsy daze I imagine holding it in my hands
          not to claim it,
          but to protect it.
Like the seeds I planted in your balcony flowerbeds
as of today I’ve made it my singular, stubborn mission
          to tend to your heart with consistency and care
to pretend I know what I’m doing
to convince you I’m up to the job.
My up-until-now haphazard way of gardening is no longer sufficient;
this one
I have to get right.
I’ve got the emotional equivalent of a shed full of shiny unused tools,
          and I finally have a place to get my hands dirty
Because I know it isn’t easy…
          the spent soil and dried-out roots of our past
          won’t just disappear
But I will cultivate, and fortify, and sweat all I need to
all for you
for your heart
and for the seeds of this wild love
          coming into bloom

written 5/11/26; posted 6/12/26