Sonnet eight (spilling the milk)

I was alone and not quite functional,

You led me in and taught me to obey.

Caring even when I was unstable,

of the humble job you had to play.

 

Your chest rising with each breath.

almost too soft I am scared of you,

knowing more then me inside your head.

your tung tightens as a vacuum pursues.

 

You hold me in with a stroking hand,

I hold your hair avoiding your eyes.

It's not what I wanted but as you planed.

There is a mess but your not surprised.

 

as you whisper through a watered silk

"it's a symptom of spilling the milk."