For a man who slept soundly alone

I was content with just pillows.

My domain and R.E.M. space,

a queen-sized stretching spot.

A pillow under my head,

a nice firm bed,

my eyes could rest for hours

without interruption

with regulation

I was at peace.

And then I laid with her,

The girl I had to sleep with.

Her scent of cigarette smoke intoxicating,

drawing my body to her subconsciously.

Her hourglass form like clouds under the blanket,

pillow soft in my one-armed embrace,

And her heartbeat like a metronome,

like her subtle breathing,

her gentle moaning when she turns over

her silky hair brushing against my chest

tickling it while I dreamt.

Her warmth was comforting,

immediate and personal.

I could sleep with her.

I would wake up with her.

She would be the sunshine

as her eyes brightened my morning.

She would nudge me for cover

and cuddle for a peace offering.

We would smile at each other,

because we were peaceful.

For a man who slept soundly alone

I was content with just pillows.

But for someone who slept soundly

With someone in their mind,

I'm not as content anymore

with just pillows.