This bed has become a refuge, and a prison.
Dark and warm, I crawl on my belly, deeper and deeper
Into my own absence
This morning, I awoke desperate for some distant artifact
Evidence, of your existence
The lingering scent of your honeyed skin
A stray hair, I could braid into my own
Some remnant I could fashion into a talisman,
to ward off the dark and piercing loneliness
There are no arms to hold me.
But gently, a cold, wet nose and sticky, warm tongue
Attend to my grief stricken faced
If I rail at these efforts to soothe me,
she merely lies down and keeps a silent vigil for my wellbeing.
Waiting for an invitation to provide affection.
This love cannot hold me
But constant and unchanging, it transcends language and culture
As a primate, I ache to be held
As a spirit, I recognize devotion.
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