A poem about you

I must be blunt.
It is difficult to type out a poem
when your fingers
are reaching for my stomach where I rest my laptop,
then tug my left hand away from the keyboard keys
with a hisssss.

I say, whose hands are these,
his or hers?
Mine or yours?
You say they’re mine.
You are mine.
I will make you mine.

You are like a cat,
sleekly stretching your palm across my stomach,
and then your arm back and forth,
while I keep trying to write
a poem about you,
one letter,
one word,
at a time.

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