the smile at your toes

i love you and i want to
tell you just one wish:
i wish not to be the lover
which you admire so much for
being the very figment of your
imagination, no – i wish to be
nothing above the ordinary, i
would be your steady hand routinely
applying eyeliner with precision
like a painter brushing the ceiling
of a chapel, delicately; i would
be your spice cabinet, utterly normal
yet full of variety and from me
you would choose just what you wanted
for yourself; i would be boring weather,
nothing more than simple rain, covering your head
falling at your feet, forming pools
and peering down i would be the smile
at your toes.