There was a knife by the window.
There was a pair of shaking hands.
There was a letter he could barely read.
There was a silence in the room.
There was a coffee scented candle.
There was a broken music box.
There was a photo of a stranger.
There was the death of a poet.

I have a nice man.

He tells me he misses me
every day,
and apologizes when he
gets too busy at work
to respond.
He randomly tells me
I’m pretty and
kisses me on the forehead.
He almost knocks me off
the bed at night
because he wants to be
close to me
and he comforts me when
I’m sad or scared.
He lets me know how
he feels
and what he’s doing
and checks to make sure
I know he really likes me.
Being with him is like
being wrapped in a warm
blanket in a cozy bed.
He is a safe, soft place to land
and he’s all mine.