even alone,
there is a very good reason.
wordy and *****,
a competent compelling
concupiscent duopoly,
like
bed and head
all go together.
so well

you can be in bed
with another person,

and yet,
it is loneliest place in the universe.

You can be alone in
bed with pieces of you.
aflame, experiencing the
consternation of sensation
that the whole world is watching
but even you know, it’s a lying inlaid lie

is there privacy in bed?
always, very possible. just not something

      you should write a poem about