My Bed….

i think about my bed

there,

under him every night

the bed where I slept

for a year

and

that fanciful thing

I loved

i think about me

leaving him,

sleeping there

still sleeping there

and walking away

i wonder about the

things he does

in my bed

and wonder how much of

it is still mine

how much of it

still holds my

spirit, my energy

and if he feels it

at night when he sleeps

i wonder if he is

impervious to it

or

if Osun’s beads

and the memory of

the way I made him

cum

still linger

there

on the other

side of the ocean I am

sleeping in someone

else’s bed

and all i can think

about, are

the curves of the

headboard

the columns of the

post

in that fanciful bed

i loved

love still

i wonder

if my discomfort in

other people’s beds

is because the

only bed I own

lies across the

ocean

with the only

man I want still

in it

i wonder if he knows

i wonder if he knows

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