cocoon

[crumpetswithtea]

felt mutely
when i waken to morning light,
nine o'clock sunbeams filtering
through my onion skin curtains,
is a poem that i have tried to utter

warm, red cheeks and itchy feet
force me from the swaddling of bed clothes,
leaving sheets of striped linen,
my hot, dry tongue yearning
for a glass of cold water

in the evening i will return,
cold and tired,
and i will swathe myself in silken folds,
grateful for the grinding hum of the furnace
and the fierce February wind against my window,
come morning
i will awaken once more
and attempt again to write the poem
titled cocoon