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how simple, the two of us standing there
one at each sink, passing the dishes between

the silence in the house tucked around
like snowfall discovered at night
so soft I can hear the needle scratch
on the record player

how simple, to softly kiss the smile of your lips
and the pulse of your neck before bed

and later, we will cut your hair out back
in the blue-yellow afternoon
and the birds will come
to make nests of these scattered pieces

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15/30

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10/30 dreamed again. tonight I dreamed of making muffins and babies. I told you (unexpectedly) that you were the only man I'd ever want to make babies with and you told me I was beautiful every day for two-hundred-sixty-six days. we named our children Sweetbelly and Stickylove and when they were outside, we kept them in fruit trees and when they were inside we kept them in our arms. This is how they never learned the feet/ground rules. Then, when we loved too much, we would have to go check on the tomatoes. dreamed again. we didn't have a dishwasher, so that I could take my time with all those muffins. I smiled and told Sweetbelly to be careful. She had jam on her face and it was scorpion season; so then you wrote poetry about scorpions and jam--about sweet tomatoes and muffins. and when it was late at night I would wake and find you rocking Stickylove and fatherhood carefully in your arms--the way my mom used to find dad. Lost in that rocking chair; and then I would lov
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