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Jan 2021
Him
I am small like a child,
wet face pressed
against a massive chest.

His arms crush me gently,
wrap me in a shroud
of sinew and bone

as the smell of bourbon
and musk fills my nostrils.
His breath feathers lightly

across the top of my head;
reassuring whispers
tickle my spine

and tell me
I am not wicked,
I am not a useless, hopeless thing.

I am perfect and flawed.
I am loved.
It is enough.
Chris Chaffin
Written by
Chris Chaffin  48/Cisgender Male/Vancouver, WA
(48/Cisgender Male/Vancouver, WA)   
320
 
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