the pull down at the corner of a bed sheet
hidden behind morning locks, the glass reflection
of your morning beard, and the sound of
blinds opening overtly bright in your good eye.
last night turned unfairly complicated
as she moved through your dreams;
and the distinct smell of picture books
filled your heart or some other appendage.
this unfinished heaven; this holy bed spread;
the innocence of a little boy's curiosity;
became her unholy battle field against you
and a million secrets left under the mattress.