You, for my approval, wore the binder whenever I was about. You tucked your hair in hats and you stole our boyfriend's gigantic clothes.
But today you wore that thin button up dress, with not a thing underneath. It rained.
I could just imagine you as a starry eyed enlisted man shining my buttons and boots far more than they needed to be.
I like the idea that you need my care and protection. You could be in mud stained khaki or gentle florals. I want you to need me.
Out of the rain and our love is making us tea, singing love songs in Spanish and Latin and Arabic. You're shivering when I undo the buttons. And your curves toy with water droplets.
The shame you have in your downcast eyes does not exist when he does this.
I put you in a steaming hot bath on the selfish lie that you could catch a cold. You try not to lose my interest, a paranoid fear that is not unfounded.
I move the wash cloth from under your clutched hand at your chest and I wash your runny nose.
Tonight, I'd like if you stole my shirt. A button up, with only one button done.
Wear the necklace our boyfriend got you with his initial, the gold one, and we will all have some nice hot tea.
He watches behind his laptop screen as I assure you that I like all that I see and I keep my gaze on all that I care for and protect from foolishness and bad poetry.
I undo the lone button and we smile, but we do not close our eyes.