POEM: The Secret of The Bed

I know the scent of you as rising bread
I love the warmth of you, my hearth in Fall.
I love the hard future that is us
And the soft shape of forgiveness in the dark.

Everything we have in this bed,
Beneath the pillows, comforters and twisted sheets,
The slightness of our fingers touching,
Reminds me how fragile this place really is:
This is no fortress that keeps all hardship at bay,
The way our bodies conform each to the other,
We are transfigured and know that we can’t really stay.