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Your legs are warm in bed tonight;
or at least
they would be.
If your legs were in bed with mine tonight
where they should be.
But your legs are in your bed,
and my legs are in my bed,
when they should be in some kind of…
a middle place,
a better place.
A place where four legs, two pairs, each attached to their rightful owners
could get all tangled
with heat like and sheets
and fall asleep together
under moonlit skies or something
sickening and romantic.
Anything that isn’t
me in bed with my bear
and my pillows,
so if I get close enough to sleep
and near enough to awake
I can pretend for a moment, or maybe even two,
that my bear and my pillows are you
drifting to sleep with me.
Maybe our noses would be touching each other,
or eyelashes would be tangled together,
or our lips could push and take
the breaths we’d maybe share.
I’d share this with you if I thought you’d care,
or wouldn’t flip out and think I was strange.
Because since then, and you know when, there’s been
quiet whispers of
legs all tangled in heat and sheets,
and maybe I can pretend that you’d perhaps consider
thinking about me before you go to sleep.
But then again, even if you don’t,
your legs would be warm in bed tonight
if they were in bed tonight with mine.