Anymore, or a World in Building

Mulling over Moments, Musings.

I don’t write anymore.
At least I haven’t lately.
My words seem laconic, listless.
Maybe I’m tired, still, I have a moronic theory that may well be groundless.

See, I wrote you a world while you were gone.
I drew a map with my fingers entwined with yours.
Shores, dividing the sandy tan to the milky blush.
Salt, on my tongue, taste of your musk.

I don’t write fiction anymore.
At least I haven’t lately.
To sit and write is senseless
when I can walk with you and live us.

Adjusting is hard.
I know I can hug a bit too tight
I know my bark hurts more than a bite
Hard edges come when life before felt like a fight.

I don’t have words anymore.
You kiss them out my mouth,
I give them even when things go south.
The well isn’t dry but using too much water could cause drought.

You give me time to be alone.
You wait for me to process, take it slow.

You get mad at me, for self inflicted blows
You show me a language I’m just starting to know.

I don’t doubt that you are for me anymore.
At least I’m learning to.
So I’ll work on me, while you work on you.
Maybe building a world, is too much for one to chew.

Being a constant is new,
But I promise you,
You’ll wake to me soon,
And a world before noon.