there is love brewed into the calluses of my coffee;
a hard-bodied steadfastness with the diligence to build me a humble home,
a playful sensuousness that can laugh after it ***** me but

in my tea i find the missing tenderness, a delicate jasmine translucency that remembers the curve of my lips around the cup
perhaps i find a mirror, in which i might discover a work of art
swaths of oil paint that earnestly create a woman, asking by their very existence to be forgiven for their impiety because she cannot be captured on a canvas

i want to love you in this way, the way women are loved;
i want to lift your jaw in my palm and kiss you gently,
to write aching letters to you,
to hold your head to my chest and finger your flaxen hair,
to rest my mouth on the nape of your neck and tell you about the home i’ll make for you

when we get out of here.