Beds Made

My thousand miles. It continues to count. This demon arrogant probes my thoughts As one by one I open each vein for it. My mountains climbed loose themselves in the distance. Where everything high and low is evened out again.

My dying flower. So pink against all that pale. In every dream still I fail you, just as in life I did.

Does the hour not change, though awake we still wait for it. Seeing it now disrobing. To fetch with warm thigh darkness stiff. Naked as the moments it steals from us. As each moment becomes all we never meant for it to be.

I hear it in my blood. I feel it in every pause. That moment that waits for the change. Both driven by and crippled with.

As if every hour were just as able and each one in turn only waited for our decision.

That ir were so simple. To pull the blanket back and touch the sheet. Warm as you remember it. And it still remembering you.

Put us both to bed and let there be no more dreams until.