here you are on my bed
staring up at me with your
olive black eyes.
fur that isn't really fur
has matted
yet its soft flicks
please the senses in my fingers
and nails.
Grubby.
You would seem like this to everyone else.

But here you are in all your glory.
White fur now the colour of stale tea
and the ribbon as pink as a baby's bottom is
soured by all those nights asleep.

The comfort of your odour and cuddle.
All this sounds silly.
I'm only talking about a bear.

A bear that has shared my existence.
There is no creepiness. It is a fact that my bear
has shared my bed.
But my bear has shared my dreams,
the true thoughts in my little world.
We're in unison.

And it isn't materialistic either,
to love an object.
And it isn't ridiculous either,
to love a bear.
And it isn't fair,
that fragility has got the better of him,
for what has my bear
ever done in this world
to deserve the torment of degeneration?

So now I sit here,
writing in front of you bear.
We share it all
but time has got the better of you.
You're not going up into the loft,
but honestly
soon you'll be off my bed.
cause that's life
and I need to learn that you're
only just a bear full of cramped stuffing
and not my thoughts and dreams.