Bon appétit

Sleep, that wicked blanket;
you’ve bathed in that warmth,
tasted that eternal sweetness,
dressed in that welcoming skin,
and now, come morning’s light,
waking you is to tempt the storm,
to taut the skin of the treaty,
and more often than not I fear
the eggs may be less than worth
that long, heavy haul into the day.

(dtn)

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