Not in my Bedroom 

I cannot recall the last time I slept in the bedroom, instead opting for the sofa. 

On the sofa any one of my lovers can visit me without your prying eyes or disapproval. 

He can sneak in through the corners of my mind and open me up like you never could. 

While you sleep and snore upstairs, my favorite lovers come and go (pardon the poorly written pun) in your place. 

They woo me and makes feel beautiful; not once do they turn their backs on me or make me feel undesirable. 

I can speak freely of my secrets far from the bedroom.  

The sofa is where I am no longer uncomfortable in my skin. 

Rather, here my skin is warm to the touch instead of cold and forgotten. 

When my lover arrives from my dreams, he is varied. 

And amorous. 

I bask in his attraction and he is grateful for my attention. 

When I reciprocate in the most intimate of ways, he cries out rather than merely breathes a sigh of relief. 

It is passionate and strong; what I need and desire. 

None of it is in the bedroom. 

All of it resides within my mind and my control. 



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