Tonight's Poet Corner: Edge of the Bed

Edge of the Bed
by Belinda Roddie

On the edge of the bed, you swerve
around me, the contours of a lover
so warm and so enveloping that
I can sleep between your mountains
and breathe in the pollen of your valleys,
the slopes playing their crescendo
across my quivering chest.

Your hand does not creep or crawl
or slither. Rather, it glides and slumbers
against the back of my head, gripping
the follicles of my hair in the most
comforting way, while your lips
moisten the already sweaty skin
of my forehead as you repeat to me
the same, tired mantra at three am:

That it's going to be okay, that it's
all going to be okay, that I'm okay
and I will be okay and it will all be
perfectly and adequately okay, and
the only reason I can believe it,
as I regain the tepid rhythm of my
breath and the cooling of my brain,

is because you hold me so tightly
and never let go once, until
the hyperventilating has stopped, the
tears have dried, and I can dream again
with the blessed burden of your body
bringing me a controlled calm.