You’re always watching, staring, wondering:
“Who are you? Why do you love me? Are we a thing now?”
And I can’t tell you.
Outside, a prance in your step.
Tail held high.
I ask you to sit. You do.
Head up, so proud. slightly cocky.
And I think, someone, somewhere, taught you this.
Back inside, you rest and rest.
Recharging from some – apparently – tiring past.
And this time I’m the one watching, staring.
Puppy breath. little tail wag.
“Who are you? Why do you love me? Are we a thing now?”