he held them gently in the cradle of his mouth
like a Faberge egg suspended in the sky on sterling spoon
his tail a cyclone lifting dust from sandy carpet
now he covets the ground I walk on, socks in his mouth a souvenir
commemorating how it feels to rise each day
with more love than you started with
I hand him a wad of them: fresh cotton
acrid earth, a hint of camembert laced
with dewdrops of sweat and shea
his lion mane, sweet belly upturned
to pastel heaven as he buffs out my jagged corners
my anima mirrored in inked pupils
silken plush under my fingers, I wonder what it’s like
to love unencumbered even
the noxious parts of me
