The Bear

The Bear has once again greeted me 
in the dining room during lunch. 
He has slumped behind the office desk 
covered in coffee stains and piled receipts. 
He reads the obituaries in the daily 
newspaper across from me at the table.
The Bear folds my laundry, but can never 
seem to reprimand the wrinkles in my shirts. 
He drinks enough for Him and i, at least He 
pays the bill every once in a while.

He softly knocks at my door; like how you
would in order to not wake a sleeping baby.
My bed returns to smelling of stalactites.
His prickly muddy hair covers my sheets
and He tracks uprooted soil through
the halls of our mossy mausoleum. 
The Bear brings His nice silence into 
    my home, my bed, my being.  
    The Bear holds me, i finally let Him, 
        and we hibernate until Earth resigns.