laughing At The empty center

Lover is back and comes quickly to the bed. What is more important than the sex is the hellos we say in between and the sleep we have in between where neither of us doze well, but we say nothing because being wrapped in arms and being overly warm is probably better. We’ve been told that it's better than complaining or kicking him out to sleep alone. Several pretentious novels are laid by my corner-wall bed in the shoebox. We are mice in this hole with sharp front teeth. He bites my teeth cause we joke around. We’re little jokesters. Yes yes yes. Laugh laugh laugh I live to laugh to make other people laugh to quickly consume the center. Then when they ask why is the center empty? Why can we hold nothing or laugh anymore? The crumbs of the center are all over my face and discarded in my pockets. I don’t live for this or that anymore, not the concepts or acts but the inbetweens and devoured centers. I am low on the wheel of incarnation. I know cause I’m eating it from the inside out and sapping Jack’s energetic pulsations and he doesn’t really notice cause I’m doing it so well and making him laugh so much.