broken ceramic plate on the kitchen tile

pancakes i woke up at 5 am to make you

strewn across the ground

whipped cream slicing snowy slivers across my face

my hands are sticky

your hands are bleeding

glue the cuts shut with my syrup-stained fingers

kiss you better with my strawberry lips

the oven burners sit between us,

flickering firelight flames

i wanted to switch to electric but

you said no

fork clatters against the table

at least the knife is still untouched,

shiny and clean from the fresh dishwasher run i ran

just before you came down

coffee stings my legs,

deep brown spreading across the pale-cushioned chair

i am ok but

the pancakes are being eaten by ants

the plate is broken

i can’t reach you

and the fork isn’t clean anymore

your hands are bleeding

i am ok

but are you?