Not it

You’re my left hand man
I don’t really need you
But you come in all kinds of useful

You’re that second half of a good desert
Would be a waste not to have a taste
And just throw it away

You’re the afterthought to a successful double act, the taste of day old sun screen, sand stuck in sneakers under the Business class front row seat, the shadow crawling up walls after the final hour of ecstacy.

I curl up in your lap
a cat with a belly full of adventures

At peace.