in the morning, we'll wake to the sound of the neighbors
and we'll curse and we'll blame
and we'll call them funny names
you will cover your eyes from the morning light with your shirt
and think of the grasshopper warming the dirt
and as we will lay, be reminded of the day
by the noises of footsteps and the slamming of doors
and the drilling and sawing of the workers under our bed
we'll ignore and make love to the roar of their-
ooo.
in the nighttime we'll study the sounds of our voices
and learn the scents to which we have been drawn
I'll not open my eyes 'cause I've not slept for days
or is it I'm blind by the beauty in your face?
we'll trust to our fingers to feel in the darkness
to trace and define all the shapes we desire
we will seek and discover just how close we can get to each other
and I'll wait for your new eyes to meet mine again
our sheets will be made of some fine, hand-woven cotton
ironed and spread across a king-size bed frame
their colors will reflect the seasons that've passed us by
though no weariness stained will reflect in our eyes
though if we should tire of our lives in the bedroom
and make from the kitchen, through the hall, to the door
and if should choose to explore together or alone
I'll remember the days when the bed was our home
