Day 29: I won't say it

 Your lips are clouds and now I don't ever want sunshine again

I wish I were a cat

Or a mouse

Or a creature who can curl up in a warm place and just absorb

Like a sponge, this feeling

Instead of feeling like my stomach is being wrung out.

I want to make this profane, 

Or sacred, 

Or trussed up in metaphors and colors and other useless things

But the truth has never been more lovely

I want to shout it from the rooftops 

And whisper it into the rustling grasses of the meadow where I sleep

In my den of soft hay and sweet acorns

And hide from myself the cat 

And fall so deeply into this feeling that I drown 

In truth