Once, as an orbit,
so constant and sure,
now spinning happily
in unraveling rings,
my mind, becomes that woolly ball
of patterned yarn -
darting about the bedroom floor.
It rolls beneath one padded paw,
silken reminder smooth and chaste
as the sooty breath of smolder.
Tucked into this sweet, dark nape
then tousled amidst wrinkled strands
beneath a crumpling of sheets
with gusts and billows, in playful folly,
asunder torn from nocturnal rest.
Passionate rekindling spun round,
turned under from view,
Won’t you remember me fondly too?