The Warm Bubble

The couch and I sigh in unison-

As I sink into the cushion-

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After I recline, I tuck myself into my seat-

With a cloak quilted from toasted clouds-

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The wind is throttling my window-

Snow is building a barricade between me and the outside-

My ginger tea with honey and a squeeze of lemon-

Is steaming out of a mug that requires a hug from both my hands-

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I have gone commando-

In the least constricting pants I own-

Bras have been banished out of my pride lands-

And my oversized Elmo hoodie respects my pudgy stomach-

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My eyes are lasered onto Baldwin’s words-

I pick up a paper and pen-

Because his story has-

Added fresh wood to my fireplace-

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My belly rumbles-

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Ray Charles mixes my apple butter pancake batter-

King Krule flips the Texas size flapjack when the butter has formed the perfect thick crust along the sides-

4 Non Blondes fries the bacon leaving the fatty parts the ideal texture-

Benjamin Clementine uses the bacon grease to exquisitely scramble 2 cheese eggs with a sprinkle of hot sauce-

Joy Crookes sets the platter with separate divisions for sweet and salty dishes-

Sam Cooke waves an extra dollop of butter on the pancake-

Jessie Reyez drizzles the syrup-

The Smiths fill the floor with pillows and comforters-

Deva Mahal extends the legs of my bed tray table-

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I take my place and drape my blanket over my legs-

In this space crafted especially for me-

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I really try to take my time eating my immaculate meal-

While I happen upon a film that gives me all the feels-

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No one invades my sanctuary-

The phone is on the outskirts of my thoughts-

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I slide into a peaceful slumber-

And dream of the day I just had