I’ll collapse at the countertop seat
Your peel an apple for me
the knife, tugs careful, steady,
a slow whisper against the skin
your hands firm but soft-
press the blade downward,
the calloused,
****** skin floats down,
placing itself on the countertop.
I’ll place my hands on the countertop, resting my young-
burden head on my hands,
gaze up at you with my eyes,
puffy and tired.
You’ll say soft phrases.
Tears brim my eyes
cutting the apple into pretty even slices. You’ll arrange some lovingly on the plate
walk it to me and place it onto the countertop
come behind me embrace me,
kiss my head and whisper,
soft words as I bleed like the apple.