It had been one long winter train ride.
The sun soaked side of the sofa,
the side I preferred, waited for me
with hesitant anticipation, like a newlywed bride.
It had waited for me in the same place,
just as warm, for as long as I can remember.
As I let my cold body sink into her warm embrace,
there he was, with his nebulaic green eyes,
separated from his kans grass tail by a patch of darkness.
He had nimbly pardoned my absence,
after all, I had returned to serve his thinned milk.
I stretched to grab him and cuddle him perhaps,
but he knew my arm's length all too well,
for I could feel only his moist nose on my fingertips,
an essence of his being. No more, no less.
He glanced occasionally towards the kitchen door,
indicating where my redemption lay.
With the slightest twitching of my muscle,
he would spring towards it, returning,
every time, with exalted expectation.
And when I would finally let him in, his dark felt would
spread onto his eyes, under the dim kitchen light.
His tongue, rough yet loving, like a mother's hand,
cleaned that old milk saucer, the one I had summarily rejected.
A few drops on his beard, he would surely miss,
walk out, without the slightest appreciation,
and then encroach the sun soaked side of the sofa,
exhibiting his white underbelly in a show of contortion.
Once fast asleep, in his fishy dreams,
I would reoccupy my cozy nook.
I waited for the sun to hit the side I preferred,
I waited all day, I waited all winter. It never did.
I sank into the cold embrace of the sofa,
thinking of the bright little sun, that would curl up
on the 'sun soaked side of the sofa', everyday.
Warming it up for the cold man who served him thinned milk,
without the slightest expectation, save my safe return.
I still wait for him, with a saucer of warm milk