The Bed of Agony

Witness to the love

Long lived or long forgotten,

It stands blind and mute,

Not tall, yet firm.

Soft is the surface,

The scent is sweet.

Don’t forget the hardness

That lies low and beneath.

The warmth of the bed

Is like love itself.
It is tender and fragile,

Almost like a lover’s sigh.

The bed often growls

In a joyful pain.

Over it’s subtle top

The lovers reign.

Its sheets are often wet

With desire and glutton.

As the moonlight falls,

The bed shines with passion

No rose adorns it,

Yet it feels the bliss.

The stains fade in a day,

The memory lasts a lifetime.