A Poem for Someone Who Never Broke My Heart

Photo by Paul Gilmore on Unsplash
A poem for someone       
                  who
never broke my heart.
Whose quiet presence     
                  is always there,
like my skin.

Someone who takes
                  care,
but not of 
everything,  
leaving socks    
                  on the floor,
pouring me        
                  a glass of wine.
   
                  Someone,
Who stares at 
his iPad
when I want         
                  to talk.
Who gets 
cold eyes
when I become 
too critical      
                  and 
fall apart.
Who cannot            
                  put me back 
                  together.

A poem for   
                  good sex
on Saturday        
                  afternoons,
perfectly timed
with children           
                  napping
when we both know
exactly, what to do.

A poem about   
                  two different 
                  houses,
messy and               
                  filled with love.
Weeds always              
                  growing 
in the cracks 
of the driveway,
                  and laughing 
at the puppy
that chewed 
a hole in the wall

A poem about
teaching babies      
                  how to walk
and
                  pride-filled
parent teacher 
conferences.
Music played 
in the car
while driving      
                  together 
and stopping 
at the side 
of the road
so our 3 year old 
can pee,           
because the little guy 
is afraid of the 
automatic flushers
in gas station bathrooms.

A poem about the
armpit stains 
on his undershirts
that are 
                  always there.
and the            
                  kindness 
in his voice,            
                  especially 
when he talks 
to babies,
and puppies,
                  and sometimes me.

A poem about the man,
I know             
                 (like I know
                  the feeling
                  of the ground 
                  underneath 
                  my own feet) 
will be holding my hand 
when I die.
His eyes filling with
rare tears.
Then going home,
drinking a beer,
and sitting down to 
watch a show,
next to the soft spot,
                  where I 
                  used to sit
                  thinking 
                  about the 
                  good life
we had.

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