Love Poem
We are past the gestures encouraged
by magazines and morning talk show hosts.
I clean the dirt from your index finger
while we drive silently to a doctor’s appointment
after an argument that neither of us won,
unwinnable. You sigh in pleasure while driving us.
I inhale your sweet garlic breath,
blink my eyes clean, swallow back the remains
of tears I could cry. There is no need.
We separate our clasped hands in order to open
our separate doors. The morning dew reveals
footpaths of others across the grass, hurrying.
We take the sidewalk’s right-angles, turning by heart
in unison, although we have not been exactly here before.
by Katie Kalisz
by Katie Kalisz
Editor’s Note: This poem is perfect.
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