Ecstasy In A Bedroom Poem by Matt Moore

There isn’t much to do in here.
Yet there are perplexing posters of paintings,
depicting perfect Parisian pictures,
poignantly parallel to the propriety of it all—
my railway curtains are down on their luck.

There are pearls at the bottom of this crystalline sea,
and breaking jaws and staking hearts,
and smelling flaws in stopping starts,
our aching limbs will break into hymns,
and convalescence falls into love again.