I’ve spent five nights this week
unmade and shivering.
Where have you been sleeping?
Have you found another,
softer and younger than me?
Your imprint is fading and
I miss your sweet weight upon me.
I’ve laid under you through innumerable nights—
you tossing and turning.
Laid under you each night because I have
nothing else to offer.
Will you make me look good again—
neat, warm and inviting?
I guess I’ll become a sleepless mattress,
a dusty mattress in a quiet room
waiting for you to come back to me.
Or will you put me out
with a sign that says I’m free?
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 5:40 PM UTC
I’ve spent five nights this week
unmade and shivering.
Where have you been sleeping?
Have you found another,
softer and younger than me?
Your imprint is fading and
I miss your sweet weight upon me.
I’ve laid under you through innumerable nights—
you tossing and turning.
Laid under you each night because I have
nothing else to offer.
Will you make me look good again—
neat, warm and inviting?
I guess I’ll become a sleepless mattress,
a dusty mattress in a quiet room
waiting for you to come back to me.
Or will you put me out
with a sign that says I’m free?
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