myriad of secret thoughts

The gentle lulls of consistency dampens the mind
Perfect. Darling, just perfect
Isn’t that nice?

The pulls and pushes
Of gravity, gentle as an ebbing tide
Rythmic, like his breathing

Boring, would you say? And impossible
To be this and this and that
at once, a package, sealed.

Carelessly I care less
Though perhaps I do
Well no, when it comes to you.