The ways you look at me

There’s a way that you look at me
when you sit at my dining table,
right before you start eating,
when I’ve cooked something you like,
that tears my heart open.
There’s a way you look at me
sitting up in my bed, reading
when I come in the room
the light in your eyes
says, I’m yours always
There’s a way you look at me
tilting your head up
hair on my shoulder, soft and thick
your hand across my chest
when you say, I love you, Daddy
There’s a way you look at me
when we are skin to skin
your eyes getting wider
your voice a little hoarse
and you call me Daddy then, too

 

There are ways you look at me
and every time, no matter where
or when or why or how much
it tears my heart open, and afterward
it’s just a little bit bigger

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