Shifting Gears

Daffodils were bobbing, I never thought to ask why? January was the coldest - dreams don't care and the yellow trumpets were almost speaking and I almost listening. However, sex got through this bucolic view, the daffs turned into a belly dancer I once admired in Luxor. Now I am being scolded by a demi-god with goat horns on his curly head. It's not happy with my expansive outlook. I need a fifth gear in a dream car, a vehicle roomy enough for both a bed of daffodils and a rather plumb Egyptian lady. The goat guy can take a hike.