Welcome To My Bed

Apologies, and a poem.

I have been too busy to spend any time on here. A poem to tide you over, after last night in Medford for a Valentine's dinner with a gaggle of mostly lonelies. It's called "Sleepover" and is one of my 365/365 poems.

The comforter keeps slipping off my shoulder
but I have decided not to follow it anywhere.
Memories twisted together, the many cords of a stereo
trying to play back every possible recording.
I twist the gray cellophane linguine back into the cassette
with a pencil and press rewind and fast forward until I find noise.

Nick, baseball game on in the background, your mother never asked questions.
Adam, lights out after school, I closed my eyes.
You had nowhere else to go.
Andrew, it was comforter on someone else's floor.
Garrett, dubious about the mattress, you slept head on my chest.
Sean, you kicked off the blankets every time, squirmed under an arm,
shook your head at the ceiling. Disappeared into August haze.
You were insistent Joe, kept kissing me long after
I had given up.
And Alex, you told me to leave.
Sam, you ate all my grandmother's butter cookies
and retired without explaining yourself.
Devon, I don't remember you smelling like anything
but Led Zepplin records and packing tape.
James, the two of us are too big for one bed, but we try.
Alec, you woke me up for my weed, kidnapped my nights, burned me
alive and forbade my sleep-talking.
James, you are warmest in the mornings. Between library shelves
I will make us a place
no one would think to disturb, silent, secret.

Chorus of breath playing somewhere past my neck,
this new voice is out of place, visitor for the night,
pull out couch cordial, we ask no questions.
Avoid each other's toes.
Old springs remind me
of slow record spiral, sound moving out
and out
and out.
How many of you have I fallen asleep
next to?