Watches you while you work; says
all the things you need to hear:
you're good, the best.
Saw what you did there
and laughed with you.
How it feels to be seen
being entirely yourself.
Sees you walk in with
shit on your shoes,
wiping them on someone's
white carpet; says:
Nobody has walked a mile
in these shoes but you. And
forgives you.
Not that you aren't sometimes
a shit-coated asshole, not that
your selfish life is unseen:
that isn't on the table.
The table is heaped
with mystery, something else
feeding and being fed.
Perhaps you are a little lost,
and tucks the blankets
around you; says
I have understood you,
loved you so much.
Takes the blame if it helps.
And
kisses your forehead and is gone.
Leave a comment