you might get a chill in bed
if you leave the windows open
in cold nights
and push away the quilt or blanket
all through sleep;
you can get comfort and peace
for a while at least
digging into bed
and covering yourself in
like an ostrich with its head in the sand;
you can get sick in bed
or you get, over time,
a bad back
in a bad bed;
or you get *** in bed
and or get lots of love;
you get coffee in bed,
or breakfast;
but you can also get
thrown out of bed;
or if you’re convincing enough
you can pretend to be sick
and they’ll even bring dinner to you in bed;
and you can have dreams and nightmares
and so travel even while in bed
and live every unknown layer in your mind;
you could, let’s face it, die in bed;
or if still alive
you can get wet dreams
and so get wet;
you can get sweet words whispered
or words uttered that split the bed;
you can spend time in bed
you can make plans in bed
and create empires or just build castles in bed
though there’s no sand or rocks about;
and you can dream in bed and work out your
inhibitions and delusions;
you can get ideas in bed
inspiration for a poem or the next great novel;
you can get
hugs and kisses
snuggles and pillow talk;
and pillow fights and sleepovers;
or perhaps, if you’re just born,
the comfort of lullabies