Her nose wrinkles when she smiles,
her black eyes watch your tired face,
lips as soft as organic cotton,
she murmurs used words,
“I love you.”
There was a time before her smile lit up your eyes,
there was a time before you.
All the things that got her to this point
she carries them with her.
Look at the marks on her hands, the load is that heavy.
Tired of pulling, she smiles,
and asks, “Don’t you love me back?”
And you tell her that you do.
Tell her that you wish she’d
leave the bags behind,
that the existence of her past is
not enough to love her entirely.
Tell her that her smile is not enough.