The moon is rising.
I endorse the fog
That wishes to roll and
Subdue the illumination
From lamps in the street.
Reflections in the tide of
Mist; the natural embracing
Of sheets wrapping
Around my body
Tightly as on a crisp winter morning,
Dreading the alarm,
To remain comforted.
These mornings are often.
Wanting to sleep.
Only to feel worse for it later...
I know better.
