Butter

Sometimes, spread like butter over you,
I ache to be a salve instead,
Soothing your sores and
Quenching your furies.

Last year as you dozed and discovered delirium,
This restless being lingered and longed,
Eyes full of fire on your body ablaze,
Watching you fly by on bright fever-clouds.

Last night as you puttered and slumbered and snored,
This throbbing spirit pondered and pained,
Whispering into the silent expanse,
Offerings of honor and wishes of love.