Sometimes I feel so soft, like a piece of fruit that’s days from spoiling.

A cup of tea, that I forgot, now cooled what once was boiling.

The ball of yarn, a kitten sits, little paws slowly uncoiling.

I see no allure, in being so tough.

Come and lay as I cry, you can even see me blush.

I’ll play coy when light is dim,

When tensions high,

When clothes are thin,

When sun is low,

Pulse in my ear—

Blood rising to our skin.

But surely,

Come day,

No shadows faking curves,

We melt into swollen eyes,

A softness emerges.

You look so young with traces of,

Dreams left on your cheek.

‘Fore coffee’s made,

Or breakfast’s ate,

Dew drops still on leaves.

The weight of living,

Yet to climb,

Atop our shoulders for the day.