i swear like,
i’m going to make her a salad.
pierce together herbs
with each ingredient
swayed with importance.
because a simple meal served
makes every thought worth this.

my intuition is splayed
i’m ripe with sweat
over tarragon and cilantro.
but still,
it’s me wondering
where is this perfect herb
and where can i find it?

i know you love me,
but, sometimes it takes patience.
like wondering
why is there pistachios
and why can’t i explain it.

i apologize for haphazard meals
but, i swear
it’s just myself
plus complacence.