Last season You wrapped around me; a strong cocoon of bandages as I was undone and sewn back together.
Then You were clean sheets and just rest.
Now it's a wool blanket season. You cover me head to toe. Warm, weighted, secure. All the peace and a constant itch. I'm awake to every little thing that's not small to You. Kind and steady, you're not letting up. I get tired of it, a little desperate for it to end, while You point out every interference between us. I kick and toss, but the blanket stays. You're persistent. Every impulse to run is met with a firm "stay here."
Something tells me if I really wanted to, I could kick this off. You'd let me get dull and I'd get a break, and maybe some restless sleep. You're not here to strong-arm me. You'd back off. But You know. You know that's not what I want. I want the blanket, I want the itch, I want all of it. I want what love has to give me. I'll stay.