Poetry

The Bed of Love

In youth
It was about rocking and rolling
Followed by
Tiny humans invading your sheets.
And empty nest sometimes leads
To a periodic, cold-sided bed.
But those who last beyond
The orgasmic sweat,
The pb&j smears
And pang of solitude,
Find that the real bed of love
Is holding a bluish, wrinkled hand
Sadly waiting for the line to flatten.

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