What is Happening RN

You've made your bed, and now it beckons me with curling tentacles to lay face down in its wrinkled recesses. Your hand stretches out and I am met with the a palm that asks my lips to delay their attempts to close the gaps between our shining faces. I put on my running shoes and open the door to the indefinite certainty of solitude but I remember the RSVP you placed on my knee with whispering looks that hinted at a less lonely peace and it threatens to blow away in my wake and take with it all the loveliness I could ever hope you'd offer. I can see the sharp ends of a beak that has eaten lesser men, and probably better ones, and at once a bravery descends up on my heart that terrifies me, and I am tempted to halt its spread through my nerves. The icy globes you use to drink in my yearning gaze are scanning my smiles and I'm not sure if there's an elaborate feast being cooked up behind the curtains or if you're as drunk as I am. The morning sun sheds light on questions I forgot I was clutching, fracturing them into moments of shame I could never hope to return if I let them slip past my teeth. You have no obligations, even to the ragged orbit of sleep we circle through, and the lowly I deserves nothing more than that from your midnight sun.