Gentle Request for Intimacy

I want to bask in the warm glow

That radiates off you without you even noticing, as,

Lips pressed shut,

You scrub a brittle green pad across the frying pan,

Then, setting it down, raise a glass of water

up to your mouth with your spidery, bony fingers.

I want to walk past as you brush your teeth,

your gaze averted from the mirror,

the bristly sounds audible from the hall.

It would be both an honor and a pleasure

To sit perched on the opposite end of the couch as you

Flip a book open and begin to read

silently, eyes alight.


Bye I Love You

When I said those words I did not mean them

As an incantation to incite reciprocality,

Nor as a binding contract

Nor, necessarily, for obligatory reply.


As you pulled your hands out of my hands

And I pulled my sleeves over my knuckles

to protect them from the cold whistling wind

I wondered if you knew

I didn’t mean I thought we were cut from the same cloth,

Cortexes, parallels, halves of a whole.


I just meant that I could feel my blood pressure drop

And my breathing steady when you’d sit down beside me as I typed,

That I appreciated the time you held me when I was sick

And the way your apologies were not stick-on bandages

But warm steam rising from cups of loose-leaf tea.


I meant that I like sitting in silence with you as much as I like listening

As much as I value being listened to.


I guess I could have said,

“You are a warmth and a peace and a light.”


But I didn’t.

I said “I love you” and you walked away silent.