Drowsing, white on white,
In the down of new-fallen snow,
Dreams come to me
Like mists over a frozen lake.
Salmon-sated, I curl myself
Up on my side
And lose myself to the feelings of the womb,
To muse on the upcoming mating season
With vague, sleepy lust.
I'm fallen now and don't wanta' get
Let me lie
Here in my winter chambers
Stocked with pizza, soda, and vast stacks of books to digest,
To sleep when it pleases me,
To let the dark hours of dread pass outside,
Nestled in my happy retreat.
George Chadderdon © 1998