I always say that it’s great to travel
but it’s always nice to sleep in your own bed again
the creaks of the springs a comforting mozart symphony to the ears
the mattress just feels a certain way
the sheets feel a certain way
they have a special ‘welcome home’ scent
the pillows just feel a certain way
they cradle your head just right
your body dissolves into the sheets
you say “hello ceiling” to its familiar cracks
like an old rand mcNally road map
of places you were always planning to go to
but never took off to for one reason or another
and patterns that you’ve stared at
so many times, in good and bad
that say “hey, you’re back! I’ve missed you”
“I’ve been waiting for you”
stare at me with those can’t go to sleep eyes
not like the boring ‘popcorn’ ceilings of recent vintage
that only have the indifference
of cold big city people in them
