Poems About Love

I woke before you and did nothing about it. The radiator ticked. Your shoulder rose and fell.

There's a word for the way your coffee cup still sits on the second shelf where no one else would put it—

My hands still set the table for two. Not every night—just Thursdays, when my hands forget

We don't say I love you anymore. We say: your phone is at eleven percent. We say: I picked up the thing

She does this thing with bobby pins— holds three between her lips like small dark fish

I mean the way he folds the map even though the phone knows where we are. I mean the scar above his eyebrow

I write you letters in my head on the bus, in the shower, in the three seconds