There lay white sheets wrinkled from top to bottom.
The top half of them are dark, where the light doesn't hit them.
The same light that would stream through the African curtains.
There lay white sheets wrinkled from top to bottom where our love began.
Sitting on them forehead to forehead whispering sweet nothings.
White sheets wrinkled from top to bottom covered bodies for many a cold nights.
On those same nights that eyes would watch snow fall through the one tiny window that the African curtains covered.
White sheets wrinkled from top to bottom were screamed into on  restless nights.
The same one's that were thrown off when the seasons changed and only heat filled the room.
White sheets wrinkled from top to bottom were folded and placed in the only dresser in the  room, avoiding confrontation.
White sheets wrinkled from top to bottom hung from the tiny white closet, drying after being soaked in a water fight.
White sheets wrinkled from top to bottom were laid on every night, for so many nights.
On these white sheets wrinkled from top to bottom is where we laid on that last night, where we held hands.
White sheets wrinkled from top to bottom is where our love died.

Between the sheets, in perfect peace,
The back and forth is synchronous.
The movements slow but never cease,
Then rise with violence amorous.

Between the sheets, yet closer still,
The lust for love becomes sublime,
One slides in to the other’s fill
The coming moments beyond time.

Between the sheets, the eyes roll back,
The light caress has now dug in,
Moans interrupted by a smack
Of rhythmic impact skin in skin.

Between the sheets, in unison,
The lovers’ gush of spirit meets,
Their finished glow beams like the sun.
They lie alone—where are the sheets?

there’s a hole in your sheet
just large enough for my arm
to tuck away under the cotton
& above the swollen, wet mattress.
you smell of *** and confidence;
the lamplight glistens on your skin.

tracing the scars on your skin
until they’re white as a sheet,
i gently kiss each one, confident
that you will return them. armed
with love you leave the mattress,
our fortress of white billowy cotton.

as you reach for your cotton
boxers, i marvel at your skin.
left alone on the lumpy mattress,
i cover myself with the sheets,
exposing just my face and arms.
i love watching you walk; confidence

seeps out of your pores. confidence
i can touch under the cotton
when i’m wrapped inside your arms,
flesh to flesh skin to skin
together for hours under the sheets,
our own world on this mattress.

i feel secure on this mattress
knowing i can always confide in
you. rain’s coming down in sheets,
soaking the plants hidden by cotton.
you return with shiny drenched skin,
soaked roses bundled in your arms.

wiping my tears with my arm,
i leap up from the mattress,
the thorns have pierced your skin.
i pull them out with confidence
and lead you to the cotton
where we’ll play under the sheets.

on this mattress we’re both confident.
my arm tucks away beneath the cotton
skin to skin under the sheets.