Bed Poem #3

Alone but not alone enough.
I am tangled in a web of blue sheets.
I look at the moon.
I want to see where they go, 
I want to see the field of grass in the night that looks like a great maw of teeth that engulfs me. Striving to connect, 
I attempt to restore something that was severed in the frigid warmth of the field, 
or was it severed in the bed. 
It might be futile. 
Regardless I blame the blue sheets for the wrong kind of warmth.