I don’t ask you to love me
any more than you love the turn of the Earth
and rise of the sun
each day

Think of me no more
than you do the elegant pump
in your chest
that feeds the blood through
to each part of you

I am nothing
but the cotton t-shirt
slipped over your head every morning
worn soft next to your skin
like a casual caress
so commonplace
that it goes unnoticed

Even at those times
you fail to notice
I am,
like all the rest,
keeping you alive

© Julie Ayers
September 2011


About Julie Ayers

Seasoned apocaloptimist, keen admirer of well-placed words, fierce mama bear of extra special children, black belt hugger, and advocate for a fashion rebellion which elevates the most human of hearts to socially acceptable outerwear.

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