Platonic
by Mattis Deutch
The other day I learned the difference
between romantic love and Platonic love.
I was standing by a printer and thinking,
I would enjoy watching this printer more
if you were here, watching it with me.
But not that much more.
Not so much more that the printer is subsumed into our joy in each other like a screwdriver
swallowed by a tree,
as it should be if I loved you like Plato loved his girlfriend,
or those boys of his.
I just would have liked to share
this printer with you.
(It was printing something good, I could tell.)
So let me just say:
I love your hair.
I love the way you keep a cracker on your knee
while eating it thoughtfully, like it was a poem.
I love the way you blow your nose, unashamed
and easy and truthful, also like a poem should be.
I love the way you tell a story about something you did earlier,
that didn’t make sense then and doesn’t now,
and then explain your motivations,
I love the way you argue, as if it’s obvious you’re right,
I love the way you try to pick a lock without knowing how,
like a poem should.
I love all this,
Platonically.