If I had made this bed alone
There would be no scent of baby powder and spice.
There would be no looking both ways.
I would not have learned to roll the dice…twice.
If I had made this house, cedar and stain, log cabin frame, without its dame…I would still be dwelling in discord’s refrain.
In the morning, between the static and the reprieve, when it is easy to not believe…I ponder such vacant thoughts.
After all you have made me a vagabond to your ways.
Through routine I am grounded in the games we play.
Had I made this bed alone
pillows, solitary and too crisp.
I would have never fancied your kiss.