Teddy.

Arms always in an open stance

prepared to hug

my teddy bear

sits quietly, awaiting my return.

Patient, he is never

unprepared to

offer me comfort.


 

Crossing your hands around

yourself, you are

purposefully preventing me from

showing my affection.

Purposefully you spurn me, tease

my heart.

You cut me to the core.

So you I leave,

to my teddy I go.


Poor teddy.

He’s a real man:

content to lie on the bed

or be tossed to the floor in fits

or sobbed and gasped into when I need to hide

my face, despaired.

No matter what I can return

to his embrace.

 

 

 

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