I’ll Take You
I know your particularities. Coffee, light
and sweet. Flowers, ranunculus please. (Never roses.)
Cold beer and hot shower will cheer you up
most days. And you could live forever
on spicy chips, Twizzlers, and avocado
with salt and spooned
right from its black leathery skin.
To say you have quirks is too generous.
The fact is, you’re often infuriating.
You drive too fast. You say you love,
then completely neglect,
your houseplants. You leave crusty dishes in
the sink. Stay up too late, don’t say
what you mean, but then talk too much.
You’re stubborn and contrary and
you’re always changing your mind and
I often want to shake you.
I used to strive (without success) to love you
exactly as you are. But now,
I think, there’s not a thing
about you that’s exact at all.
The trick is in the turning.
The seeing you again, and new.
Because when I say you,
I mean me.
And you’re the only me I’ve got,
so I’ll take you.