I always liked the foot of the bed.
My toes hang down, out from under the covers,
A taste of freedom if only in the night.

But what does it matter?
That part's taken.
And I'm tired.
My weary head flops over, face down,
Way up at the crown of the pillow.
But my toes pop out from the side of the heavy quilt,
Still searching for the edge.

-jenn