Toddler in a King Sized Bed

The glow of the streetlight reflects the curve of my arm.

As it lay limp around this cool fat pillow.

I feel like a toddler in a king sized bed.

Small and negligible.

Soft breathy sighs of a night’s silent dream,

Through a window I jump.

No burning or falling to my end.

Instead I float like a dirty feathered pigeon and,

Land on my feet.

 

I have become addicted to the rush of falling.

These windows that once sent my blood boiling,

Have now become my magnet,

My being the only metal it desires.

My lips curved as the strict face holds its position.

Botox for the young at heart,

An internal clock,

Thrown in a lukewarm bath

Filled only with vanilla salts.

Renewing, and justified

Sleeping without aspirations.

Just sleep.

Advertisement

Tags: addicted, king sized bed, literature, pigeon, poem, poems, poetry, poets corner, silent dream, writing, writing poetry