sleeping in a borrowed bed

I brought my soul to the desert
August 17, 2013
the prodigal gardener
August 28, 2013
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Sleeping in a borrowed bed

my back, my hips readjusting

to the well-worn contours

of another’s sleep

of many nights spent

in the same bed

in the same home

with the same lover

that has left its tender imprint.

 

I can feel the love here.

I am glad for it.

Smelling the lingering scent

of passionate candles

burned in the night

while lovers connect

re-establish

re-experience

their sense of belonging.

 

And I belong to myself now.

I have made the decision

to be a friend

an ally

the gracious queen

of my own life.

To allow contentment

to form itself

to the contours of my loneliness

that has left its hungry imprint.

 

And in a borrowed bed

under borrowed sheets

I can close my eyes

allow sleep to take me.

For the world itself is a borrowed place.

My body,

a borrowed vessel.

My lovers,

borrowed energies.

It is the truth of things.

 

A wise secret of strong hearts

that reminds me I must choose

to be brave

to be sure

to be happy

with all of these temporary,

borrowed things.

And my soul continues,

my sense of wonder unbroken,

as I embrace my life

just as it is.

A borrowed adventure.

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