Spoon Poem by Rachael Swiss

whenever i sleep i sprawl.
i cover my bed with the
entirety of my entity
to make up for the loss
of time, people and places
my dreams have only imagined
and my reality has yet to grasp.
i hold onto this
void; tightly
an all-consuming vacuum that sucks
me in like i nibble on bottom lips
passionately craving more -
grieving
for there is none to be had.

i am a tiger.
i stalk hunt prey upon
the innocent
when there is innocence to be found.
during monsoon seasons
it doesn't rain, it pours
and i soak up the attention
an amorphous sponge with pseudopods
reaching out in every which way,
all at once going nowhere
trying to escape the impending doom
of inevitable drought.

i could be a kitten.
you could cradle me in your arms
while i sleep,
none the wiser that you're resting
securely
in the firm grip of my jaws.

i could be a kitten,
cuddly and cute, mewing
for affection,
playfully pawing at your dangling heart
claws retracted.

if you held me while i slept
i could curl into you and fill
your void,
and you could hold me and
fill mine,
and instead of ticking clocks and heating pads
i could rest my head on your warm chest,
listen to your body as it makes night sounds
like an open-air male womb.

spoon me sweetly
like a kitten
and i will nuzzle your neck
fold into your throat
and fear my empty bed no more.