When I lie in my waterbed
I am like an island
in a sea of dreams.
My limbs shape the shoreline.
My opposable thumb is a jetty.
I can spread my legs and give birth to a bay.
The covers are like a warm fog
over my beachhead.
If I lie still,
empty my Rushmore of dreams,
kicking out the Crusoes,
the Swiss Families Robinson,
commanding Nemo to embark
his Nautilus from my nether regions,
leaving me bereft of nuclear technology
and alone,
I can become
a desert isle, uninhabited,
home to neither Old nor New World monkeys,
revert to some Eden before the Fall,
and sink deeper into the folds of my waterbed.
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