Cabin

He likes strawberries and syrup.
He likes to hold me when he’s spent.
Warming all my bitter into worship.

His hair is my favorite color to drown in,
his mind my favorite scent.
He likes strawberries and syrup

while I like my coffee black, akin
to nothing inside of him but torment.
He warms all my bitter into worship.

To his bear build I am thin,
to his tender I am hellbent.
He likes strawberries and syrup.

When I untie and then unravel, we begin
again, this hole-away until the world is silent.
Warming all my bitter in worship.

He is my lover and my sin,
my salve and my ascent.
He likes strawberries and syrup
and warming all my bitter into worship.

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