Grateful and Greedy for Where the Shoulder Meets the Neck

a poem about being held by love

One Hundred Days of Gratitude. Twenty.

I never needed Xanadu when I had you, or spoken more specifically, when you had me — nestled in your neck.

I already had a palace of pleasure and protection and peace to take refuge in after some senseless self-war.

Holding tenderly and tightly like all arms were made for —

you would whisper

anything at all and I would hear and feel the words pressed up against your throat the muffled sound of love and hope.

More than cried on I don’t understand how you weren’t washed away. You just let me stay.

With gratitude, love, and respect for you and my old Xanadu —  what I would give to go again today.