She had slept on her mat. The untouchable mat. 
No I shall not sleep on it, on this black mat
On this untouchable mat. 
this torn, longlasting, loneliness-born
Heat emitting and weak mat. 

My mat ought to be white white white
Satisfying

There you go! Your mat, bone-white
There you go! Your mat, chalk-white
There you go! Your mat, spotless, squarish, straight. 

Are you happy now? Imagination? Or would you wake up in the dead of night
And shouting , shake up the sleeping night… “Where is the white mat?” 

The virago will sleep with so much pleasure on her ever-dark mat!