My Stationary Lover

You didn't clean the dishes up.
I work all day, when I come home
I do not want to find
This fucking mess
When all I want is
Less stress, and peace of mind.

I can't think in this clutter.
How can you lie there on the sofa?
Shawl across your legs and crumbs across your chest,
Hand still gently holding the remote across your breast
Changing channels of your dreams
And making sure you catch
The end of my reaction.

Very funny. You look cold;
I'll sweep you up and lift you somewhere warm,
And think in spite of all these flaws,
And all this havoc that you cause
And all the crumbs and all the mess
That I am yours,
My stationary lover.