The Couch
You are hanging on to the couch
to hold in place, saving it and
warming it
and transferring divine scent into
old cushion. I’ve gone through
three watches since you began to
love me. I’ve sold many hearts to
the monkey’s since I first saw you.
And still you dance asleep,
blue pants
white sweater, sweet smelling
perfectly packaged bottle
of vintage bliss, on my faded blue
daisy couch.
And my fleeting
smile
takes a bow.