it's cold and the smog wraps around you
like a lacy gray blanket
and you hate that it makes it hard to breathe and
how the cold makes your hands shake
but i'll be the sun that burns it away before it makes your vision hazy
and the rain that washes it clean before you get up to close the windows.

if you like your coffee sweet
i’ll become the crystalline confectionery
in a brown paper packet
for you to carry with you in your pocket.

if you were a saltwater lake,
i’d close my eyes
and plunge right in
without a second thought
on the blind hope that you would be saline enough
to keep me afloat.

i’ll make you fresh pasta
tortellini, wasn’t it?
and i’ll mold each one
to the contours of my fingers so you can taste
my affection for you,
my attachment to you,
with every bite you take.

i’ll let you rest your head on my lap
and listen intently to the stories of your home
your family
and internalize and absorb and embody the feeling that you feel when you reminisce
so that the next time you feel nostalgic
i can bring that conception of home to you.

if you like listening to the piano
i’ll practice
until my fingers are sore
until I no longer need the sheet music
until my eyelids shut and my hands move of their own accord
muscle memory
until my curated symphony becomes your soundtrack.

because if you were sold in a packet
like chocolate or pretzels
i’d spend every penny I own
to buy and hoard the entire supply
bite away until my stomach hurt
and my mother had to tuck me into bed.