I.
i want you to always make the bed 
if you leave in the morning before i come home.
i want the water glass in the sink.
the lights shut off. the morning is
distinctly a purple place. i take
a shower. i wipe the steam off the mirror.
you left a tan sock & i put it
in with the rest of my wash. 
you make the room feel wide-- like
a shadow box.i lay the covers down 
& they ask me where we go during the day,
if we hold onto each other like that. 
i don't tell them anything
& set stack the pillows & i shut
off the light & i put on 
my socks at my desk chair. 

II.
i want you to never make the bed
if you leave in the morning before i come home. 
i want the covers folded & flushed.
a single lily-petal. if i painted
us before we fell asleep what kind
of patterns could we have left?
a Rorschach test-- what do you 
see in the ink? i see swans 
& uneven fingers. a ceiling fan. 
i like the coffee shop up 
the street because we walk there.
because there's a chess set near
the window & i wanted to ask 
you to play. leave the light on.
the shadow is an inadequate
proxy for a lover-- but is it a body.
the carnations on the table,
sick with their own ambrosia. 
will you come back tonight?
make my skin glass, again.