On an old spring mattress,
With stale, wrinkled sheets,
Two gripping green moons keep me sane.
The bed that I've wished would lull me below ground,
Is where her majesty, the universe, eases my pain.
In her deep, soft black I am mesmerized.
By her eyes like moons I am hypnotized.
And suddenly, in spite of its ancient coils,
The mattress fits neatly my shape and size.
She rhythmically plucks at the bed with her claws,
To inspire the beat of my heart.
Beneath sheets where I've dreamt of napalm and a hearse,
She offers to me a fresh start.
Those gripping green gods that I find in her eyes,
Give me valid reason to dread my demise,
And that soft, silky fur,
Even blacker than space,
Soothes the black in my soul I wish I could erase.
