our bed

03/26/2009

you say you're still waiting for me in our bed
in your room
in your home
with your sheets
and your pillows
with your imprint
on the mattress
where our past goes to die
because nothing before us has ever existed
in our bed.
in your covers
in your arms
with your skin
and your warmth
with your heart
so close to my chest
that i think it's housed in my ribs
right next to mine, where it belongs.
in our bed.
in your voice
in your words
with your whispered
and your shouted
words that bring such colour
to such a dark night
where under the blankets
we hide like children
our own secret place, with each other,
in our bed.
in my chest,
in my mind,
with my legs like lead
and my body like glue
to your softest sheets and
your sweetest skin,
the hardest thing to depart from.
but my imprint in the mattress
is waiting for me every time i return.
and you say you're still waiting for me in our bed