Bed-Bugged

I would not suggest to you
an extended vacation in my bed

for I toss and I turn
and I find myself uncomfortable
all the night long

I really am
a terrible bet
and a bear in the morning

do not dip your hand
below my waistband
in an attempt
at playful dawn reforestations

I might take it upon myself to bite you
to nip at your fingers
until you shriek
and take your hand back from me

I have sharp teeth
and I enjoy the taste of fingerprints

I am not particularly fond of your morning halitosis
I prefer to keep all the blankets to myself
your breath is making my neck hot
and I want my pillow back

no matter where I plan my legs
yours seem to be a tangle in the way
my arm has gone to sleep
while I plot my revenge with my own pins and needles

you are on my hair again
as you latch your hands onto my breasts
I am rolling and rolling and have nearly
rolled clean off the bed

I wish you would stop trying to sleep on top of me
didn't you read the sign on the way in
written in bold letters above the doorway?
It states my positions quite clearly:

"Don't Plan On Long Stays,
Please Depart With A Minimal Amount of Fuss,
You See, I'm Trying To Sleep,
And In All Actuality I Probably Hate Your Guts."

fairytale

if this were a new world
and these were our first steps
upon these fabled shores
we would know
that we could not face Her armies
and survive

but in the ignorance and knowledge
of foreign empires
we advanced as if there was nothing
in us to lose
as if the fires surrounding the towers
did not mirror the fire in Her eyes

as if She did not know
that no matter how wicked our hearts
or how vigilant our minds
that Her crimson lips and ebony hair
would stand always as a gleaming beacon
on darkened hills

that could outnumber our quickening breaths
and summon us to our deaths