The Lives of Furniture V: My Bed

My bed is tucked into an alcove;
I have to crawl over the bed to
get under the covers, and it’s difficult
to make in the morning, so I don’t.
I wake up in the morning to an
orange glow, the color of that
fake cheese one finds swirled over
cheap nachos at Taco Bell.
I used to sleep on a water bed,
never sure where I was or who it
was sleeping next to me.
Now I nestle into my soft bed,
my companion a stack of books, reading
until that moment when my eyelids
droop and I fall into a deep sleep.