because you work 7 days a week at one job and 6 days a week at the other, we see one another in the morning, at night, and in the in betweens - it makes me sad to see you go when you do, your eyes heavy, your hands calloused, different from a year ago when we both read books together under trees & in comfy chairs, when we only talked about the proletariat, and you think some days I love you less for it, but I don’t think I’ve ever loved the worker more then when I get to comfort him in my arms after a long day
let everything happen to you
