My stomach is tingling,
Appetite or illness?

Telepathic touch
It surfaces, before I notice myself asking.
In form and instinct he knows me,
But in origin, our intuition’s slacked.
I haven’t exposed my truths,
What I might’ve thrown out, could’ve  mislead.

Agony nudges gently;
You aren’t worthy of love she says
You’re repulsive.
You’re sinful.
You’re ***** and inedible
People try to help you but you don’t want to be helped.
Her tone is generous, attentive, loyal.

With these words I perish;
“Stop you’re melting me, aw God”
He kisses me and swoons onto my chest, smearing my body on the sheets.
The juncture of my withdrawal alights.

My blinkered eyes trudge the familiar trail, but then fixate,
-a penetrable route disguised.
take the tired track or trod the untrodden?
Perplexed in ponder I whisper in trance
Quiescent terrain ...quiescent terrain?

He’s snores as I lift my head from his belly
"...an amaurotic trial".
Squeeze. The soiled sack flattens against the lip of his favourite mug,
Adorned; those pungent, final drops.

The frisk evening air lifts my limbs and I wave as I always do.
Thanks for everything, as he always does,
Get home safe, as I always do.

Lingering or loitering,
I brace for his lips to flourish as his leg hooks the infamous green frame.
"I’ve been admiring your bike, I keep seeing it around"
Such sweet beginnings,
Such oblivion to an end.

He nods.
Farewell, and may we meet again in happier times?
Perhaps.

I step inside,
Retreating to what is known;
a path that has been walked before.