Poem In Praise Of My Boyfriend (after Diane di Prima)

I suppose it hasn’t been easy living with me either,

with my paper stacks and candle ends, catatonic heart and the way

I always have to be right, even

when I’m not.

Keeping you up at night 

with my questions and small nags and are you sure

you still love me? 

It’s been a long time since I asked last Tuesday.

Are you sure you haven’t changed your mind?

And you, 

never doing the dishes when you say you will, always eating my best snacks, 

waking me

in the middle of my best dreams. 
Did I set an alarm? Are the house keys

around? 

Move over, I’m

falling off the bed,
and yet,

we cling to each other, 

claws against shoulder blades, dents

where there might have been wings had evolution treated us more kindly,

your elbows

stopping the house from falling down. 
I remain more dirt and grime than housewife,

more parade of insufficiency than anything

bordering clean, 

and you

are a mess of guitar strings and half formed dreams,

but we fit. 
And maybe 

that’s enough. 

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