this world is so cold. I need to warm myself by the hearth of your heart.
two pairs of feet, they peek out of a blanket. their legs, lazily tangled. they graze on one another, they warm themselves. there is safety in this scene. there is simplicity.
it isn’t a scene that is mine. but it replays itself, over and over, within my mind.
why is it that desire
becomes an ache?
I’ve never known a want
without pain.
to yearn:
it’s to hurt.
oh,
to cook for you
while you rub the sleep out of your eyes—
you alone,
my morning sunrise.
coffee in the morning. you on my lap. lazy, slow. we steal minutes we don’t have.
THE CLOSET MYSTIC 