Cold Tile Serenade

The bed and I are taking a break.

It's not me, it's the mattress.

It holds the heat like a grudge.

So I'm down here with the tiles,

cheek to ceramic, dignity optional.

The floor, the floor —

the coldest love I know.

It doesn't ask me how my day was.

It doesn't need to know.

Just lies there being marble-cool while I forget my name.

The floor,

the floor.

I'd marry it if I could stay this way.

The dog gave up this spot at midnight.

Smart dog.

We take shifts now.

Him, the hallway.

Me, the kitchen.

Both of us aristocracy of the low.

The floor, the floor —

the coldest love I know.

Five more minutes.

Fifty more

minutes. Wake me when it's October.