THE BED

My heart lies empty like my bed. 

Somewhere down there my electric blanket burns.

A vague perfume haunts the sheets, Turkish Delight?

On bricks she's fractured in the middle.

I go to her when I tire of the world - 

and try to remember that I am a wave.

Everything will pass and move on - 

the transmigration of energy I think they call it.

I like the smell of the sweat because it's mine -

 I breath it deep into my wheezing chest.

Money makes me leave her, but should it be passion? 

I bring clean sheets to my bed like a gift to a lover.

I fall....fall....to a place that has no bottom.