Marital Bed

This bed is not ours.
It never was.
It is not my small single bed
in which we first laid;
stifling our cries in shoulder or pillow,
afraid of when my father would come home.
Nor is it our queen sized bed
in which we would snuggle;
hugging each other close
as we hid from the world,
where we tuned out our fears
and lived only for each other.
But this king sized bed is not ours.
It is not our place;
we cannot hide here.
We cannot escape our fears in these sheets.
Even they are not the same;
not the silken purple of our dreams,
but the soft white cotton of sensibility,
of responsibility.
Nor the illustrious pillows of our lust;
just six long sleepers of comfort.
This bed is not ours.
It never was.