Mr. Fix-it

She calls me "Mr. Fix-It"—

and I can fix it, you name it.

But how do I massage her body from abroad?

How do I meticulously excise and express

the exhaustion that taunts her

like popping seeds out of a pod?

How do I season every word I utter—

make it seethe with passion,

yet soothe like corn-melted butter?

How do I charter around the edges of her soul,

with ambitions of being her compass,

mastering her every pole?

How do I caress her emotions—

crack her safe of a heart

like a love potion?

I will tell you how, Pal.

I fix it... without fixing it.

I tell her I love her—

without saying it.

I tighten my upper lip,

concede to a formidable contender called Sleep,

yet beat him in the morning

with this breakfast in bed—

made from every word I just said.