it is quite tame a thing to be standing
thisclose to eachother, one washing the
other rinsing. dishes piling in the rack
to dry.

it is sweet, almost innocent the way his
hands graze mine as i make him wash the
same dish for the third or fourth time.
a speck i say, something he forgot about or
didn't see or thought he could slip by the likes
of me.
they have to be perfect
and i am a watcher so i will see everything.

and he laughs at me, says i'm too picky says
they don't have to be perfect
and in that moment there are specks of love
all around us that i don't make him rewash
that i don't bother to rinse off.

04/27/2004

Author's Note: my attempt at a love poem. or somethin'.

Posted on 04/28/2004
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