warm ginger, like cinnamon spice
these simple pleasures are revealed to me.
perhaps although your gaze is cold as ice
your gentle yawning brings ecstasy.
which is why, my dear friend
no matter how hard you bite my arms–
my love, to you i’ll send–
even knowing all the harms.
every day I sit and wait
in the comfortable prison of my bed.
I know you see it too, the fate
of each person ignored, their texts unread.
but even so, you stay here;
your eyes are daggers they pierce
through my anger, through my fear
and burn brightly, ever fierce.
truly, my friend, your presence alone
is enough to make me stay.
you are a beam of light, always shone
upon the thoughts that lead me astray.
-a poem dedicated to my cat Pumpkin
