love, poetry

Supper

Aching from

The slow, hot fight

Against the day

Within

Without

Your hands on the muscles

Taut from action

Fingers against my fur

Don’t hold back

I am replenished by

The struggle

And the tension

I am quiet in my own way

And where I falter

I rise again in an instant

Harder, forged in the heat of

Feedback for my worth

Grows by contemplation

And appreciation

So attend to me

In touch and word,

The sun is fading and

We can watch the shadows

Wax by the hour.

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