Sir Bean

Why am I addicted
to your aloof stare?
You claim with your
eyes that you don't
need me,
But I need you.

The counter is
your throne,
the end table too.

My fountain is not
a source of calm
but a goblet
for only you to sip.

I am your chambermaid,
your chef, your
massage concubine.

It is me who should
be buried in YOUR
tomb to see you
to the other side.

And I would not have it
any other way.