In my childhood room
he sprawls across the bed 
emanating coiled languor; 
quiet masculinity, 
sated cat
seeming
at rest. 

He regards
with fondness
but curiosity, testing
my mettle.

[Am I enough?]

Ordered disorder,
Queen Khaos
I am;
incapable of the straightlaced
discipline and ramrod posture
you strut through life with.

Frenetic squall,
teeming with the undone.

And yet you drawl,
"Oh darlin',
you're gonna."

I don't--

Yet unfurled potentials beckon, 
a daring invitation:

I could
be 
More--

The alarm blares, 
wrenching 
me out
of the primordial void.

Wretched with consciouness,
subsumed by the binary;
corpsed reluctance, 

I lurch into the fray.

My apneic companion, 
oblivious,
saturates the bedsheets
with too much heat.