Not Committing To That Kind Of Comfort Poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar

You want me to sit,
Like a dried booger to pick.
As if I had no other activity,
But to please.
Like one of your disgusting habits.

I am not committing to that kind of comfort.
Not at this stage of our relationship.

And if you can do 'that' anywhere,
As if my wishes did not exist.
I can imagine what sharing space would be with you...
A pig pen,
You would enjoy living in.

And my love is not that unconditional.
Not if I can envision slinging mud...
Before I said, 'I do'!

To that I say, 'I can't!
I don't. I wont!
Thank you for the warning!
Fresh air is what I choose.
Absolutely.'