My bed is a temptress,
a white-cotton lady begging me softly
with pillow-voice vows
to dress her in velvet and vapor of dreams
she call me to darkness of dreaming
turning me crazy
itching, alone in the skin of my body.
My bed is my mistress,
seductress with down-fingers
stroking my hair
gently demanding me deeper in nakedness-sea
to swim in her down-bosomed flesh,
to dive into depths of her breathing.
My bed is the reason for me
being awake when morning of chores
is calling me back to the shadows of living.
My bed in the morning
stays silent but knows
I’ll be back in the evening.
For Sherry at toads, writing about an ordinary thing… in my case it’s about my love affair with my bed.
May 2, 2019