Good night kisses,
Watching a movie,
Wrapped in a blanket,
Two straws in a smoothie,
Four legs intertwined,
Two glasses of wine,
Her head on your shoulder,
She's just a year older,
Holding her close,
You cuddle all night,
Keeping her warm,
Holding her tight.

Wake her up with a kiss,
On the forehead and lips,
Look into her eyes
And thank God she's your prize,
Treat her like royalty,
As if she were a queen,
Open her doors
And buy her nice things.

But more importantly
Than any of that,
Love her unconditionally
And she will love back.

Deep in the night, Inside the cocoon of my blanket,
Like a teen aged kid, I dream of a world,
I dream of this world, Where I am the creator...
I can beckon people, my heart wishes for
I can sing, dance, or live a lie,
Deep in the night, I brought in the rain,
The thunder wild, wind tearing by
We walked our dresses plastered...
Your hands slowly exploring mine...
The tingle brings a warmth inside,
I settled inside the cocoon of my blanket...
Deep in the night, I brought out the Sun,
Dried your hair, combing with my hands,
It was stifling hot, in my part of the world,
The sweat trickled, and I brought in the spring...
With the flowers bloom and the birds charm,
I started to hum the song in your heart,
Deep in the night, you got lost,
Inside the cocoon of my blanket,
I walked miles, tracing your heart,
I brought in the moon to guide my path...
Deep in the night, I realised
I lost my dreams to another heart
Inside the cocoon of another blanket,
The dreams were lived by beautiful hearts...
Deep in the night, Inside the cocoon of my blanket,
Like a teen aged kid, I dreamt of a world
A world where I was left alone to dream,
About the wandered heart and torn blanket...

We discovered a master painter
who hand paints intricate flowers
one-by-one to create
a picturesque landscape painting.

In his paintings, a cardinal sits
resting upon a tree branch,
and a monarch butterfly marks
His signature in each painting.

Indian blankets, greenthreads,
brown bitterweed, and Texas thistle -
all vitally important to his paintings.
Therefore, he paints bees to pollinate

the flowers, transferring life-giving
pollen from anther to stigma.
Yes, the master painter places
all of this in his painting with
beautiful intention.

He was a blanket, covering all of me. Fabricated by the most delicate hands, he kept me warm on cold nights. And one of my favorite parts of him is that one string attached to the right side of his neck; it was as if his life depends on it. Because that very string diverged into tiny threads which spread out to his hands and feet, and converged with four other strings that lead to his heart. They are rich in color, and I wonder how just those strands of life sustain him. But sometimes his strings would loop, link, twist and turn, and I would get so tired of being pulled along; every fiber in me started to turn into a knot of uncertainty.
...
He tugged on my heart strings that night though, as soon as I was about to cut the twine we had made with our fingers braided together. That's when I realized I can never really untangle myself from him and from the cross stitch of our crossed fates. Because for us to live, we need all strings attached.

My chenille duvet covers me
Consumes me
It has swallowed me up again and let me escape
To a world where the bills don’t exist
My homework is finished
The dishes don’t need to be done
The cats are fed and fast asleep
My son obeys to go to school and listen to his teachers

My chenille duvet hides my reality
The reality that
The bills still aren’t paid
The dishes are still there
The homework keeps piling up
The cats are at the foot of my bed, begging to be fed...again
My son has yet again skipped school and tried to come home, not knowing that i am under my duvet

My chenille duvet allows me to feel no pain
It allows me to forget
Even if for a little while
Under my chenille duvet, the world is silent
My feet are warm
My mind stops racing
My heart stops beating as if ravaged through my chest
I can breathe

Every day gets a little bit harder to leave my duvet
My old ragged gray soft duvet
I long for you during the day

On the days when i am in class and don’t have my homework to hand in, because i am so tired
On the days i get a call from my sons school asking where he is, when i know i dropped him off
On the days i get home, and the dishes are still there
On the days i get home from a 12 hour day, and realize i forgot to buy cat food again
On the days i come home and cringe going up the stairs as i pray they didn’t turn my electric off again.

My gray soft fuzzy duvet, I miss you
Why can’t you console me all the time?
I don’t want you to leave me
I need you to stay and make it all go away

If you were a blanket
you'd be full enough
to keep the cold out,
& big,
& all encompassing;
wrapped to safe as safe can be.

The sea isn't a blanket.
Sure, blankets may have waves,
and blankets ripple when you jump on them,
but a blanket does not host Atlantis.
A blanket isn't full of saline.
A blanket does not hold billions of creatures underneath it.
Instead, a blanket only holds a couple, snoring, unconscious,
unaware of the each other,
unaware of their petty troubles,
unaware of their drunkenness,
unaware of their bruises,
unaware of life, death, and the sea.

Some days I don't notice,
But over and over,
I'm the blanket,
You don't want to throw,
I'm always there to pick you up,
That's all I have ever been,
Picked up and used when your down.