the mattress is a magnet to the warm flesh lonely people when the world's eye the window draws its curtain lids and the late dark hours are tinted by the light globe spilling yellow. when all our words have burned down to embers like a fire, and our hands have found each other in the space that's left between us, we know the mattress is a magnet to the warm flesh lonely people you could go back to your home while i stay here in mine, and if caution was the dollar we'd both be poorhouse tenants, but the mattress is a magnet to the warm flesh lonely people. will you stay with me tonight, we are close as our clothing, the kisses are not finished, our hands are still busy, and the mattress is a magnet for our flesh tired of the separation.