You say 'baby'.
You elongate the word in your excitement. And I know the word isn't meant to evoke feelings in me but I replay it in my head nonetheless wishing it was.
Call me baby.
The word was not a slip of the lip. Not a word of endearment you've unconsciously let slide into my consciousness.
"Baby" wasn't something you regretted saying immediately. It wasn't something you regretted hours after.
You have no fear of how I'd receive the message. To you there would never be multiple meanings.
To you, I'd never be considered your baby-your anything.
YOU ARE READING
Limerence
Puisi"Bumblebee: I wonder if you will still love me when I protect myself and sting." Started: 8/20/20 Completed: 10/18/21 My 7th poetry book.
