Bedside sentry, guardian of my dreams,
nocturnal furniture, wooden lamp stool,
condom cabinet. I have a habit
of forgetting you exist, which is, I
admit, blasphemous, because you are the
God of Holding Water, Keeper of my
Pre-Sleep Reading, and my life would be bare
without you there beside me (as would that
patch of carpet next to my bed—heaven
forbid we throw the flow of the whole room
off by your absence). You are beautiful,
and brown, and expensive, and essential,
so don’t let the other furniture pieces
put you down ’cause you’re not from Ikea.

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