The Joys of Sleeping In

Awash in drunken peace of night, Of quilts against morn’s blasphemy We flit from flower bloom depots, Those gentle postures of repose, Like bees aroused to ceaseless flight By dreams of pollen alchemy And vats where golden honey flows. Entanglements of arms and legs Are Sunday crosswords to be solved, Our pleasure fades like morning dew, Evaporates when night is through, As sunshine drinks dreams to the dregs. And though our future’s unresolved, Columbus, I discover you. Brian Johnston October 6, 2016