and I think my bed likes me.

We are lovers in the night;

victims of passions we cannot control.

Each evening,

after a long, hard day at work,

I enjoy being wrapped

in the cool/warm fuzziness

of it's flannel sheets.

Dark grey in color,

bordered by a bead

of the richest black trim.

They entice me to part

the delicate dark folds

as the cool crispness warms to my touch.

The pillow case,

crinkling as I bury my face 

into it's pungent fragrance,

reminds me of the soap isle

at the super market;

clean, fresh and soapy,

(it always makes me sneeze).

Even on the coolest evenings

the bedroom window is open

as the taste of the night air,

tinged with the sea's salty musk,

drives me deeper into the elictric fur

of wool and cotton.

Sometimes, in the secret of night,

(no one knows,)

we make love

while my roomate sleeps.