02

He watches, not exactly still
Not quite quiet, almost hid
Sprawled upon my window sill
Spectator to what I did

Not comprehending, or so I think
Not judging, or at least not much
He watches while I have a drink
And reaches lazily for a touch

I work, and I forget he’s there
And beat each word to fit its place
Then glance up to meet his golden stare
His calm relaxed and sleepy face

I go back to work, for that is that
Someone has to feed the cat

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About MishaBurnett

I am the author of "Catskinner's Book", a science fiction novel available on Amazon Kindle. http://www.amazon.com/dp/B008MPNBNS
This entry was posted in On Writing, Poetry, Who I am and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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