I heard what you said. I’m not the silly romantic you think. I don’t want the heavens or the shooting stars. I don’t want gemstones or gold. I have those things already. I want a steady hand, a kind soul. I want to fall asleep, and wake, knowing my heart is safe.
He takes a pear and bites off the dark bruise
so the white meat sparkles in the summer sun
and politely he turns it for her so it can be bitten in a new
place and they are both crushing and sucking and nodding
as if they agree on something.