After You Go Soft Inside Me by Lexi Pelle
"Bring me your smallness, your tender disappointment."
After You Go Soft Inside Me
by Lexi Pelle
You apologize, like a boy on a dock who has just let his catch slip back beneath the surface of a lake. I don’t mind. Bring me your smallness, your tender disappointment. Pajamas around my ankles, I smile, wipe my slick thigh with your shirt. When I lie about reading or doing dishes when I’m doing nothing, you catch me the way a dancer catches another dancer from not-falling. We leave the curtains drawn, windows open; I hope someone sees the tender constellation of pimples on my bare ass, the way you shrunk like good fresh vegetables in my oven. I never knew how small we had to reveal ourselves to be, to be this loved.
Read our interview with Poet of the Week, Lexi Pelle, in which she discusses living shamelessly as a creative act. About this, she says:
“When I tackle a taboo topic, I’m not trying to be as open and honest as possible; I am trying to let the shadow of the poem, or a deeper truth, impose itself on me. This slight reframe is so permissive. I am not a shameless person, but I am a curious one.”
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The poem feels like someone trying to describe the kind of intimacy that only becomes possible when two people allow themselves to be small, flawed, and completely unguarded. It starts with an apology that feels almost innocent, and instead of creating distance, it opens a space for tenderness. The everyday details pajamas slipping down, wiping a thigh with a shirt, the constellation of pimples make the moment feel real in a way that polished love poems rarely do. There’s a quiet sweetness in how they “catch” each other, not just physically but emotionally, in the tiny lies and tiny truths of daily life. The poem keeps circling back to the idea that love isn’t about being impressive; it’s about being seen in your most ordinary, unfiltered state. By the end, the speaker realizes that real closeness requires a kind of softening, a willingness to show the parts of ourselves we usually hide. It’s a gentle, honest portrait of love built from vulnerability rather than perfection.
Beautiful.