Bed

I can feel the quivers of your heart

and mind like a gentle tremor in the earth,I have heard your excruciating thoughtsgiving birth,As you lie exploring your unconscious.You tug at my sheets as your muscles contract,As you curl into a ball,Your bones resting on my frame.

Every morning you rise with a flash of innocencesketched on your face, but then rememberingthe toils of your world, I feel your body pushing deeper intomine, my quilt creasing, eyes closing again.

Most times you lie in peace and ignorancefrom the world. Emotionless. Waiting.Waiting for someone to share me with,indulge your tears, your passions and fearsthat collect in me like a lake at the Somme.Dilute your scent and past that is embedded in me,like drops of oil on water,with the spilt emotions of another.

Returning from your day you are too often defeated.Resigned to some fate you curl yourself into a ballon my chest. I creak as you push into me,A cycle that never looks like breaking,marked by inactive limbs and lethargic movements,dragging your legs across my skin.

Rising with a flash of innocence once again,light squeezes through the curtains,I see a face I haven’t seen before,lifting your head, your smile meets anotherand I know this morning is different.