On the here and now

I am the river 
and you are the bed.

do not be fooled you do not cushion my currents, 
you are just jagged rocks pinching the nerve in my spine.

I tell the doctors and the vertebrae that I am all curves and cut veins from pressure,
the heavy weight of woman
sitting on my chest and pushing down on the spaces in my back.

Really I know, 
at night you creep into my body
at night you creep into my side of the bed
you pull your knees up to your chest and dig your heels in stubbornly.

I dream and you dig because still, 
I am the river
and you are the bed. 

You are jagged rocks digging into me as I float on,
but the places you push in me make the spaces for the light to dance on me.

I am the river here too
and you are my bed, 
and on the sharp edges of you
ever will I float

until the edges bend.