You with your dizzying

lackadaisical demeanor and
the way you spread your
hands when you speak
Motioning
conducting every measured
quick-witted remark that
spins from your teeth
purposefully and
I can hear your voice and
know the way your face and lips
will curve on certain words
even the ones I make up
that have never been released
Is this
Sickness
or infatuation or
Neither, I suppose
Since I've settled into this unsettled
Indifferent in-between
A back-and-forth bickering
Internally
Where it could go either way
Depending on the day
For me to wish you to be
my King