The Couch

This is a poem I wrote off of a reoccurring dream.

The couch is dark green and brown
with three cushions snuggling together,
holding hands. I want to make friends
with the sofa, but I am too far away,
too high up. But then the balcony’s
teeth tip me over and I dwindle down,
down into the rugged carpet.
I know my end and do not hope
for the couch’s stranger hands
to rescue me. Slow motion
is my magic carpet but the inevitable
will come.

But where am I? Stranger’s green
and brown hands are snuggling me.
I’ve been rescued by my new friend,
the couch.