you follow me with a napkin

Crumbs spread like seeds, here collected.
Come house, you croon, return us to nature,
Flowering furniture blooms with ruled precision.
It’s pleasing to watch – exactly like our marriage:
accords of patchouli, heart notes of patience;
vows in the stove of the Master, and Margarita;
on the rocks, Friday’s second and best cocktail.
Flattery isn’t the objective here, clearly.
It’s potential. Like you yourself showed, aged 6,
pushing that chair, so much bigger than you,
behind haunched wedding guests taking no heed
– today’s champagne over self-chattering little girls
determined to have a first slice of paper-white cake
knowing, as we do, sweetness isn’t just in sugar,
but in the moment itself,
and all the steady effort
we take to get there.
That’s what our love is like.

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