Poetry

The cold black leather
Glues to me as I
Sink in comfortably
Without a fight in my tired body.

All that enters the room
Just can't stagger to their feet,
Surrender to the noble
Furniture royalty.

It blends into the room
Like a shy bat in the shadow.

Years have passed...years.
Cracked wrinkles are now covering
It's shining skin,
But like an untamed
Sixty-Nine Mustang

It still does the job,
Oh boy it does.