Kieran Collier

Petal

drizzle sunflower seeds into a mess of leaves.
we joke about domesticity as you pluck the knife
i’ve just washed out of the drying rack
to wipe it clean before it can rust.

when did it get so personal? i can’t remember
even though i’ve tried to mark a specific moment
where things shifted and each of your swift
actions began to mist across my eyes.

i can’t sleep still in the summer heat
so last week you snatched the extra fan
from the living room onto my dresser.
i want to cup your face in my palms.

each day you gift me 1,000 small pleasures.
today you pull bread and cheese
out of the refrigerator before the ask
has fallen impatient out of my mouth.

it’s so silly how you slap my ass
through the khakis you picked out.
so silly how the lilies we pass by
bend their stems in your direction.

it’s silly that we sometimes treat
basic human decency as love, i know.
but i don’t think it’s that silly to love
through basic human decency, you know?

i love you the way the grass in our backyard
grows: one drop of rain at a time.