Song To Myself Poem by Caroline Misner

The only time I feel whole
is the time you come to me.
Come, share my bed
in your tumult of music, you
echoer of lies.

You attend me so blindingly,
unseen, like a mythical god;
hands cold and smooth as limestone
with a heart just as broad.

You wash the guilt of another woman
from your skin while I
dance to a song I sing to myself.
Just remember, you’re a soldier first,
born to battle again and again
while I wait out the night.

I have no right to keep you here
than the wind and the rain own
the rights to hold up the sky;
than despots own the rights
to the gods or the beggars or the poets or priests.

But I am patient.
I know you will return to me.