My bed no longer felt like my own
   bed and the sheets no longer held
   me together but stretched me
   apart; tore away the
   smoothness of my newly healed skin as if
  jealous of where my heart now belonged.
   They wanted sin and I was sin,
   but they looked of purity and I knew I was
         not.
     And I fumbled,
           crumbled,
             stumbled,
    for any chance,
      anyway,
   to find my way into my real bed,
   into my real home
   where I had always
   always
          belonged

       with you.

Published by Charlotte Griffiths