my favourite place

Its warm duvet covers, consoles and comforts my bare legs, to the guilty point of arousal. Embraced by accompanying reveries of a lover long departed, my closed eyes swirl like foam on stirred coffee, REM viciously lapping under my eyelids. My skeleton refuses to support me as I slump and lapse, yet again, into sweet apathy. Plotting mutiny beneath my dark skin, strong waves of consciousness seep in slowly as my brain lies flaccid on its soft pillow. Cushioning the flotsam and jetsam of restless thoughts that taunt my body for dawning duty, it attempts to hold its ground with tranquillity made in the long night.

Its musky scented sheets and creaky mattress boards consume me wholly. Desperate for more winks, I drift and float towards a deserted island, ostracised by the popular woken world. A voice between my ears is babbling incoherently, seeming to invite me to the realm of popularity. I decline. My affection unrivalled, I still recline in the eiderdown like a china doll in wrapping paper, snug in the quaint cosiness of its offerings. Pleasurable lulls lift me to its addictive land of dreams whilst I am incubated in its perfect hibernation.

Intrigued by how it so smoothly clouds my mind and sucks my being, I conclude it must be lonesome without a pacifier. Oh, how it causes the day to pause, and the earth to stop turning on its axis. It could just shroud me forever.

Oh, what a bed!