the unphotogenic way

i won’t tell it to you
in the ways
they sell it.

not with rose-petal ambushes
or heart-shaped balloons
that stink of latex polymers
and bad decisions.

i won’t write your name
in the steam on the bathroom mirror,
won’t carve it into anything that bleeds sap,
won’t post it on facebook
for strangers to chew on
like gum that’s already lost its sugar.

i won’t say it drunk…
booze makes liars out of mouths,
and i don’t want my love
slurring.

i won’t always say it in good sex, either,
because everybody’s a poet then,
everybody’s suddenly holy
when the body’s winning.

i won’t say it with flowers…
flowers die,
and i’ve buried enough small pretty things
in my life already.

i won’t say it with a song,
because even the best song ends
and you still have to live
in the quiet after.

i won’t say it when you’re laughing,
‘cause that’s when you’re easy,
when the world is giving you a break
like it’s trying on kindness
for a day.

no.
i won’t disclose it
in the cheap, shining ways.

…but here’s my way…
the raw, unphotogenic way:

when you come home
with that faraway look,
three shifts still hanging off your shoulders…
someone else’s needs in your pockets,
the week clawing at your back,
and you’re convinced
you’re too much trouble…

i won’t turn away.

i won’t turn into ice
or advice.

i’ll put on the chai.
i’ll pull you in
and hold you like i mean it,
like i’ve got nowhere else to be.

i’ll sit on the edge of your bad day
like a guard dog
with soft eyes
and a full stomach.

and when you’re quiet,
when you’re sure you don’t measure up,
when you’re waiting for me to leave…

i’ll stay.

that’s how i love you, my love.
not as a word.
as a place…
where you can fall
without hitting the floor.