Homebody.

Blankets
and a pile of messy hair
on my head;
the delicious smell
of coffee
beside my bed
(covered in polka dots),
and slippers on the floor,

where I trace my toes
imagining sand,
and look in the mirror,
the tool of events
I might attend;
a new exciting meet-greet
chance
(just once)
to dance;

a little dress;
or little dates spent
here (or there);
some evening affair
and a tinkling glass.
But I think

I'd rather wake up after
strings of pearls,
after ten hours' sleep
and the day's climbed the sky,
and peek out of my
squinty eyes
and find you curled up
by my side.

February 26, 2010