My kitty doesn’t understand busy.
He wants love in front
of the computer screen,
in between
me and creation.
He cares not
for what poems I write,
and tells me not to trouble myself.
He wants to chew my glasses
while they are on my face;
scent-mark my lips
because truly they are his lips,
especially if I’ve been eating fish.
He knows no boundaries

when it comes to arse in the eye,
his or mine.
He loves me up so much
when I am crying.
I rarely turn away
from his kiss.

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