I’ll put flowers in my kitchen

“I’ve been watching too much Mayor of Kingstown,” I’d said-
but what I meant was I’ve been thinking way too much about you.
Our simple check-ins, our witty conversations,
are a beautiful contrast to most of the men I’ve known-
quiet, undemanding, never asking for anything neither of us can give.
“I thought the snow was soft.
The snow was not soft,” you joked about your fractured ribs-
and I almost fractured one of my own, laughing.
You are quiet and easy the way sunlight filters through my windows in the morning,
a soft golden hue warming the apartment without asking permission.
It’d be almost rude if it wasn’t so comforting.
You carry yourself with a gentle confidence
that makes my nervous system finally exhale
a breath I didn’t realize I was still holding.
I want to put flowers in the kitchen again.
Now we invite each other on vacations with I don’t want to go alone’s that really just mean
I only want to go with you.
It’s an incidental language between us now-
And one I’ve never spoken with anyone else.
My life has changed completely with you.
“I was just doing stupid shit” now means clearing snow off your roof in a storm.
Before you, it meant much worse things.
It’s been two years of this-
two years of how are you doing and I just want you to be happy,
plus the quiet photos with comments that are intimate instead of sexual-
and you’ve officially raised my standards.
You’re not a breath of fresh air.
You are the air.
And I’ve been breathing smoke for years.
So, I’ll put those flowers in my kitchen-
and I’ll think of you every time that I smell them.