My beloved, you are beautiful.
The sight of you fills me with such joy.
Clean and smooth and cool. Bespeckled with a spray of tiny flowers, like a carpet of spring blossoms welcoming me home.
The cover pulled back, I am invited in, and I sink back with a sigh.
This is no canvas shelter. This is no nylon cocoon. This is no moonlit, starlit square of mud and grass, so hard and cold and unforgiving.
No, this is a bed. Warm and soft and safe. And not just any bed. This is my bed.
Forum was such fun, but boy howdy am I glad to be back in my own lovely bed, in my own lovely flat. Bliss.
In summary: poems of joy.