3/4

I love you
like a sea otter loves it’s favorite rock.
Fact: sea otters will search high and low
for a perfect rock
Smooth and ideal in shape
to rest on their belly
& smash clams and shellfish upon
they even have a pouch of skin
Where they keep their favorite rock

You, babe
are my sea otter rock.

fluffy’s

she sat on the stoop of the building
her arms cradling his head that hung low into his chest
his eyes pressed hard into the palms of his hand
her posture spoke to me
her every cell begged to perform a transfusion
willingly
selflessly.
“transfer the hurt, from him, to me” her face said
as she nuzzled her forehead into the curve between his ear and shoulder

cars passed between them, & me
kicking up the odors of the street
of drunken night life
& sober regrets.
i could feel her desperation from four lanes away
i silently observed them
as my drunken companion pulled me along

but all i wanted was to pause, & watch–
to know their night’s story.
because even in an entirely different country,
hurt easily translates.

the ways in which he loves

He always stands in front of me on descending escalators,
& behind me on ascending ones
because he knows I have a propensity for falling.

He packs an overcoat even though he knows he’ll never use it,
because he’d rather carry the extra garment
& give me the option of having an added layer to protect me from the cold.

He sends me videos of himself,
welcoming me to whatever country,
state, city I’m flying into
so that however bad of a flight I had,
it’s always remedied with his bright smile.

He writes me notes with the sweetest sentiments
& sends them via email when he knows im still sleeping
so as not to wake me with a text notification.

These are the gestures
however small or large they appear
that lets me know
he chooses me.
each and every day.