Comment on this article

Unmade Bed
by Janell Moon

It might have been the waves crashing
on the shore that made us spark with desire.
Maybe it was the fresh salt air
or the sight of the moon offering us its silver.
One minute we were of clouds
and dreaming, then our limbs twined.

We were midnight bandits who helped
ourselves to pleasure in sleep's abandoned
hours, mattress's cotton buttons poked at our skin.
After, we laugh at the strength of our arousal,
look up to the night bed of stars.

Now in age and harmony
I sometimes wonder who was it
stole the silken from my bed?
A comfort pillow and hand-done quilt,
a paint-splashed calico asleep at my feet.
I'm too young a body to put aside the joyous urge,
too old to toss about all night.

Send me a lover early evenings,
maybe a friend who undoes veils
so lovers' ways comes out of disguise,
someone I know really well,
doesn't have confessions to tell,
her favorite ex- living far away.
Give me someone who doesn't snore.
May she be happy and quiet.

 

Return to: