The Bedsit.

Little room with no view,  I occupy you,
you're filled with a comfort divine.
Lain curled in your bed, dreams spin in my head
while your duvet and my legs entwine.

Our space is so neat, compact and complete,
not much scope for the notions to fall.
Bed only just fits, lamp sullenly lit,
as my silouette creeps up the wall.

The windows lay bare, as I dwell in your care,
no drapes or shades cover the moon.
Just a cloud or the stars, through the parallel bars,
bless us our joyful attune.

Some would dismay at tonality greys
surrounding this truncated cone.
 No luster or lure or sheets haute couture
grands a place up to feel more like home.

With minimum space and the simplest of grace -
we crown the apartments beneath.
But I love my small home, it's where I belong
Who needs palaces or laurel wreaths?

  This poem was inspired by Willow's picture prompt at Magpie Tales.