if i loved you less

I do not write you love poems.

I don't know why,

except the words that come never seem to fit.

I do know that you tucked my hair behind my ear, 

while I told a funny story,

when we were still very young.

that you have a freckle on your bottom lip.

that you met my rage with tenderness in the early days of June. 

that you have held me steady as the earth has buckled under my feet.

And I know that no amount of time spent laughing under the covers, 

much too late at night in our too small bed

or conspiring to surprise our children 

or debriefing on the drive home

or snacking, feet intertwined in the pantry,

would ever be enough.