We stood in your too small kitchen
and you had two pots and one pan going on the stove.
It was winter,
but you still had the a/c on.
A bead of sweat fell from your hair and
I watched you wipe it away with your left hand because
your right held a glass.
When you kissed me
you tasted like *****.
Like ****.
Like spearmint gum.
Your dog barked from behind the baby gate
and I tried to imagine what I’d always wanted but
you broke the thought before I could finish it.
Danced across the ***** tile,
got eye level with your glass
and watched as the clear liquid divided
across cubes of ice.
You laughed,
with something like childlike innocence,
and I almost smiled from seeing you so happy.
When the rice burned and you forgot to feed your dog
I fed him for you.
Scrubbed out the blackened ***
with the soap dispenser you filled with water.
Before bed I told you I loved you.
I’m not sure you heard me.
I’m not sure I said it out loud.