Tended Love
The source of our love
is buried in our bones.
How much of us
will become a menagerie of favours?
Tiny gift-actions endearing
our love, tangling it through our hair
and our habits.
Each kiss, eventually repaid.
I wake to wash the cutlery
before you get home.
Money and monotony
are our only enemies.
You quietly wash the whites
as I sleep through the morning.
Let us give like this,
returning and returning,
tangling and tangling,
So that if we forget
of bones and blood
nothing
could untie
our inelegant knots.
MGB
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