we have wrapped up our 
pillow world,
propped up our 
plush pajama life,
layered all in a lush sunday-morning
laziness.

nothing here but brushed cotton,
shadows with no edges, luminescent
soft-box smoothness. 
yes, the pillows have pillows
and we are goose-down floating
amidst conjured bubbles of fumbling
laughter, lazy lilac breezes
licking and tickling our
curled and stretching toes.

big piggy, little piggy,
the market is so far away.
all stretched out, forgotten,  
bled away like the traffic and
the concrete and the rust is just
a diffuse haze.

no existence save this
white-shear womb, this heaven of
forgetfulness.  Un-wound, healed,
forever safe