My Guilty Pleasures

I clear the drain
before it clogs,
snip stray strands
from your clothes
when you aren’t here.

I check the tin
of tea you forgot,
gather the curls
your comb left coiled
on the counter,
brush dust
from unopened things.

You may never know.
But love—
when it runs
up from the root—
needs no witness
to be profound.