Lonely are the Bread
you know this sourdough conversation
is putting me to sleep
even though I'm hungry enough
to be loved without worrying
I don't know how to fold
in these desires that bubble up
with the oldest aged yeast traditions
along with light and fluffy air
or a young frivolous romance
with others
every time I think I'm dreaming
you pop in with your poking
with your punchy prodding thoughts
and questions that challenge
the very essence of the history
of sourdough monogamy
that tug at the gooey strings
baking in my heart
that awaken the most profound
safety and security
and base curiosity
to be your favourite bread
to eat you with the butter of trust
to fall asleep in the boundaries
of your crust