Let us do what socks do

By Sandwich Massacre •
my sock slept peacefully in the grasp of his socks. big and black and warm, wrapped and folded and mingled into a chaos that merged their fibers into a single color, a single mass. there is nothing more beautiful than the little magic tucked away in the darkness of a drawer. a hidden place untouched by life's tug-of-war.
i get lost in a big bed, and cold beyond anything i encompass. i roll into a fragrant treasure in the middle of this nowhere. the scent of dancing and hair and him give my scent a partner again. i close my eyes and ignore the empty space. i forget the air and the infinite universe my hands continue to find themselves. i'll stop searching with my hands, scents have no fingertips.
i feel like magic to know that i am his home. 3000 miles away, but i carry his home within me. his magnet. the place he always wants to return to. the place he sacrifices for to keep cozy and perfect for his nourishment and survival. i am more infinite this way.
i dance in the bed we've made, a roll and twist into the perfect slumber. driven by the perfect knowledge that i am his home. that my life and his life have met like magic in the darkness of a drawer, a place where we tumble and fold and mingle and merge our fibers into our own single color. i sleep and dream in the warmth of this rapture and wrapping where he'll find me perfect in the nest he's made for me to rest and wake. he'll find me on this every day after in this place that we have made. a home we take. a home we keep.
2005