bed

My flesh is animated with insomnia and memories.
Other senses dull as time passes,
Smell evaporates, the sound of your voice dulls,
Months later even the curve of your nose, the color of your eyes,
Foggy at best.
Oh but touch.
The skin, it never forgets.

My mind is electrified with insomnia and memories.
You can make your heart forget,
Even adapt, change, but memories?
And the smile that accompanies them,
Remain.

The white hot scrape of calloused palms,
Soaked up sun rays in the centre of your hands, the peak of your shoulders.

A thousand thoughts, running rat races in my mind,
The dream of sleep, rest, relaxation, far behind.
Steady stream of future, present, past,
I wonder, will the insipid insomnia last?

Left, right, inside, out, wall, window.
Down, memory foam, cotton, springs.
Tossing, turning, snoring, moaning.
Kicking, spooning, facing, backing.
Sleep.
In slumber we find hope,
A brief escape, a moment to shut down, restart.
In sleep we are given the blissful gift of forgetting.

Death in a temporary state.
Tossing, turning, snoring, moaning.
Vulnerable.
Unaware of actions and surroundings,
Unable to offer protection and comfort.
The one with whom you share a bed,
Is one of utmost trust, rewarded the highest responsibility.

Don’t let just anyone in your bed.