Happyness

i am 

not her sewing machine she cares.

when fever strikes:

feeding on

drowsy diplomatic words she drops;

having my mind and body 

patched with 

loneliness that can't be labelled as wounds

i routinely

have to sow sound sleeps

with the music of machine mocking at me.

for her always murmuring

when her machine conks out

i never be a tie

i thus 

find myself happy 

pretty painfully.