It’s delicious lying crooked in bed
composing poetry in my head
luxuriating in the afternoon
dreaming of a woman i once knew
i feel so drowsy i may doze
dream of her remembered pose
skin as soft as a petal’s rose
downy and fragrant to the nose
i could lie in bed all day
and wrongwise write the day away
typing stanzas with eyelids shut
in poetic dreams, director’s cut
what is a poem it has no mass
a thread of words laced with panache
puzzle of meanings subtle and plain
poignant message in rhyming chain
~e