The Old Breath

-There's something beautiful about a man
admitting he doesn't need to be strong anymore
When instead what I would rather do
is curl into your lap like a domesticated cat
And purr on your downy thighs
And joggle my tail across the lower side of your chin
Until you conceed
When what I need is dutiful pops of sense
But I will settle on words
without punct
uations
Until you conceed
like a a river that thirsts for rain
like a stream in desire
or disjointed anecdotes
Have I told you this lately
We haven't run out of things to talk about so
maybe
not,
Gather me like the leaves and roll in me
Make me your snow angel or your well groomed spring garden
Keep me through the lemonade and the cider
I will be the old breath inside the mason jar
such that this will never end-