Beddie Bye Boo Ski Time For Yours Truly and Or the Missus

Beddie bye boo ski time for yours truly and/or the missus Found us abed thee twelfth day of December, cuz yours truly still felt dehydration, physical fatigue and soreness, which possibly linkedin to using stationary bicycle. Our bed (mine and the wife), I arbitrarily describe as double wide mine traditional established approximate sleeping side on the right if facing headboard while standing at footboard; if I blithely disturb, dismiss, and disregard settled pattern posse would appear out of thin air as if most other married couples linkedin with their own sleeping arrangement, would dare tread against observed covenant, which blanket statement tacitly notified among/between themselves even when away from home husband and spouse cannot hide embedded behaviour, but the above lines serve as a convenient aside, when segueing into remaining poem trumpeting, summoning, roping, quintessentially kickstarting, and joining "Wynken, Blynken and Nod" at figurative drop of hat even if/when yours truly woke to immediate necessary nocturnal comfortably numb zzz land eagerly, joyfully, opportunistically surrendering to his slumbers. When zapped of energy the sandman doth knock no matter readout of analog or digital o'clock hankering urge to sleep exponentially increased with every passing tick tock. Our marital bed (when we hit the hay) occupied about more'n two and half score years since we (me and the spouse) wed even during spate (sowing wild oats - regarding gathering rosebuds while I may) of mine risqué business, where unnamed husband did dread with extreme trepidation manning left side (picture said individual lying on his back) atop sleep number mattress of paramour, predicting spouse considered me (courtesy crimes of passion) better off dead in retrospect I recognize the signals clearly straight ahead. Now on the lighter side say slender woman Betty Boop, though both mine deux daughters (figuratively and literally) flew the coop mine wife chides me courtesy (unwittingly preceding trend concerning popular couture), where she playfully pulls down mine baggy sweatpants leaving drawers droop around mine skinny (think chicken) spindle shank like legs bent appendage vaguely hinting hula hoop (fake detail here, which singular purpose to supplement reasonable rhyme ultimately sole purpose to lasso and loop) exert tight hold on reader's imagination more torturous versus unsuspected prey subjected to deafening war whoop after cannibals counted scalps sacrificed victims as human zoup. Before concluding current endeavor, (yours truly about half way thru), which prompts me to think metaphysically ruminating regarding when does authored written work reach childhood's end) possibly vexing readers to trot off to zz top less land miserably (perhaps purposely) failing to pony up reining in long overdue adieu, where beastie boy king of schnorrers snores dreaming about foo fighting motley crue (in dire straits) donned in gay apparel characteristic ecru whereby unconsciousness REM memorable cycles found upper and lower eyelids shuttered courtesy invisible glue hermetically sealed airtight as blocks of ice constituting (albeit housing) an igloo temperatures greater than five below fahrenheit finds me freezing off my kazoo, hence despite somnambulant state I (charming cheater) trod along tundra of broken (not very sweet) dreams. When zonked out and wired invariably somnolence finds me dead tired no recourse available when energy meter expired. Impossible mission to thwart repose thus once noggin plunges into pillow thus these lovely bones approximate rigor mortis pose faint breathing detectable out me nose intermittent twitching of limbs characterize highs and lows stuff mine dreams are made where mishmash of images juxtapose.