My Bed
My heart as deep as chasm
Black, yet it thuds with beating
Thuds like the pounding of babe’s footsteps
Or the rhythm of drums when he comes.
Darkness like love, eyes cast, not see
Ever present, like the changing of days
The petals of clothing fall from your bosom
Vessels and rivers flow through you, red.
Yet, I think I made you up inside my head.
One so perfect, not true, a myth.
When you wake and flee in the morning
Much like the deaths of the leaves, my heart dies.
Yet when you return to my covers at night
And nestle yourself in the scent of my hair
I can think of nothing with more delight
And dread our final morning.
(2013)
A story about a lover which comes and goes, leaving the first lover desperate to keep him.
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