My Blanket, My Cushion

When I come home from work
You reach out
And pull me on the sofa
Straddling your legs
Around my thighs
And your arms
Around my chest.
You cover me like a blanket
And I sigh.
“Oi!” You scold me:
My boobs are not your cushions!
They are though:
Soft and ample.
But I am not resting on them.

My head on your chest
Listens to your heartbeat.
It is steady and strong,
And it firmly pushes away
With persistence and intent
My day’s sorrows.
Until they’ve all retreated.
I know that it is
Beating for me
Like mine is for you.