Bedsheet Poem by Mathew Thomas

White it was, the bed sheet,
Naked against my skin,
Secret hold, of amorous sins,
Of many desires in between.

Crumpled now of intense weld, congealed,
With musk in between,
Heady smells of under armpits,
Intoxicated, lulled my wits.

White and pristine before,
Not white anymore,
Of liaisons, stains and sin,
No longer sensual against my skin.

But then can I throw it, in the wash bin,
Seek another against my skin,
White and pristine, should I keep,
Only as a shroud when I finally sleep.