I carry you like a kangaroo
toss you like a paper cup
sing you like a high note.

Don’t get me wrong,
I am the boomerang 
who will always come back to you,
a recurring dream,
the tune you whistle
while you wash the dishes,
the romance
you can’t seem to shake.

Even so,
you shake me like a maraca
pluck me like a bouquet, 
fly me like a paper plane.

The truth is,
I was never yours to spend.
I am the first dollar you earned
framed on the mantel.

After all,
it pleases me to please you,
tickles me to tickle you—
you are the bones in my skeleton,
the love-lies-bleeding in my garden,
the cream in my cup of Joe.