Sweet Thing

Looking at your face
when you lay with eyes closed
the wave of emotions –
my cub wanting to snug under your chin
enwrap you with my arms legs and hair
put my head on your raising chest and just be.

…Followed, tormented,
by a wave of restrain and chill, called reason.

that I should open myself like that for
the sun bees and bliss, but also the winds of contradictions, perhaps.

on who I am and that I do not fit into
your life, your blanket, your calmness family and prosperity.

on whether my emotions are misplaced and I
crave to touch and love you and treat you
like my most loved, for that moment
because I simply crave some-body, an embrace
I crave to be so loved myself, unconditionally.

I hear my own voice
when closing on your chest
“Perhaps my emotions are simply misplaced?”
but you, defiantly answer
with the calm of a fireplace
“I like it. It feels good”
Judgment nil.

Relentless now, I charge again
and when you ask if we should laze into the afternoon I so want
of a movie or random cakes on the way to the garden
I say “Sure, the day is smashed anyways”
anticipating that this time, at last,
you would consent to my bitterness.

And you curl, hurt wolf, lines on your face now showing the sorrow
“I thought we were having a really nice day”.
And I both rejoice in the deep crease I just started
and cry my real tears indoors.

I rejoice because I do not believe I can
I am afraid the milk will only spill leaving me dry
I do not believe I am worth this, now or ever
and it is better to crease now than break after.

And I cry my real tears because –
please do not stop calling for me
messing up my language
Sweet Thing at dusk and dawn.

I want this, even if
for a few bubbles
on our respective timelines.


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