Seduced by lazy images, I wrap
a U of heated cloves around my neck,
empillow me in bed to make my lap
a lumpy surface for a book, and trek
into my favorite sleepy fantasy:
a rescued noblewoman swathed in down;
supine within a sled or sidecar, she
is bound in comfort and a flannel gown.

Console and solace me for all the work.
Embrace myself and soak my muscles sore
from walking hard and fast, my brain berserk
with my beloved stress. There is no chore
or project loud enough to make me miss
the ecstasy of respite, after this.