your dog
you know, when you ignore me for days on end, then return from hiatus and say something sweet, that i’ll eat it until my teeth rot.
you know, when you glow like home at the edge of the porch, that i’ll flutter too near and all at once you strike me down and leave me where i fall.
you know, when you rest your head softly on my shoulder and whisper something only i can hear, that i know that i can never rest mine.
you know that i’m just your dog, tied to a post in the yard, who forgets that the leash will go taught when i sprint towards the sound of your voice as you call my name.
i’d like to believe that you’re just allergic to dogs, that you can’t be near one for too long. i’d like to believe that you are as careless with your allergy as my childhood best friend was with hers, who would break out in hives any time she ate chocolate, but couldn’t stop herself from occasionally returning to her favorite food.
i’d like to believe that, but i’m just your dog.