This feels like a shiver.
Like a gripping hug; tight.
I wiggle my shoulder and back,
waiting for the sinking relief.
I am spent.
But the grip lingers.
I could swear it war tightening.
The tears felt like, they welled up
to the surface through tightly packed teeth.
I feel like a tangerine.
It let go.
I am not sure if this is relief.
Because I can smell its return.
It’s presence. I do not dread it.
I dread my non-dread of it.
Like an acceptance of drowning.
Supine, my eyes hold unto nothing
as I am spread and adrift till I’m lunged,
back first, flailing into oblivion.
Where its grip awaits me.
And the shiver-like comfort returns.