suburban bedrooms

Plush carpet lies inviting underneath
a bed of quiet disposition
and an endless vacuum of affection.

Those pajamas will fall away
To my steady and shaky hands-
Their motions familiar and true.

Does the dissonance register with you?
your body does not belong here.
my bed is the gathering place of kings.

But your presence among the white
speaks of a time before the fall-
literally begs me to abandon the ruse.

I dare not speak of it!
the God of old, young, and faithful
lies hidden in our bathroom mirrors.

What is familiar and carefree
Manifests itself in the movements of your soul-
Your suburban hips reflect my every sigh.

and I will then remember-
the quiet goodnights of geographic divide
calm the world into a million pieces.