Ode to Sofa

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My luscious green heap of pillowy goodness,
your plush arms caress my sleeping body
with the tenderness a thousand silken clouds,
embracing me with the warmth of a mother’s womb.

Every time I return to your cushions it’s as if you have memorized my every curve,
enveloping me like you never want me to leave.
And I promise you, my big hunk of cottony love, that I never will.

Enduring endless hours of the Home Shopping Network
just to stay close to you.
Wasting away hours of precious daylight
just to feel your touch.
Sacrificing my weight in spare change to your chenille abyss,
for just five more minutes of your heavenly grasp.
Yes, I would do anything for you, my ergonomic, L-Shaped thrown of relaxation.

Not even Laz-E-Boy, the king of comfort, can replicate your sexily stumpy legs,
positively posh physique, or shapely chartreuse showmanship.

I’ve seen you with other woman, and yes, a man or two,
But every time I sleep with you I feel like I’m your one and only.
You know I can’t resist you, my wily upholstered temptress.
So promise me this, my springy cream puff of contentment:
Never leave me for another woman’s living room,
or I’ll collapse into a heap of disgruntled, discontented, discomfort.





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