the cat parks on my bed every morning, dares me
to try & make it, what’s it to him if sheets are untucked
twisted & tossed, the blanket crumpled, pillows strewn
I pass & repass his steady glare, sometimes hours pass
before he feels the urge to move, by then I may be
otherwise engaged, well into my day, my chore forgotten
evenings, when I’m too worn down to retuck corners
snap away wrinkles, he eases into the tangle with me
lithe unknowable familiar, he curls into my armpit, purrs
against my cheek, nips my wrist, nothing but grip
& release, not like the early days when those bites
drew blood — his are urgent needs — my palm
cups his head, fingers rake his neck, both hands
gloss the silken run of his back, he purrs, he nudges
& paws, bares his nape to mine, flexes his claws
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