Pillow Slams, part 1.

New Yorker Cartoons, an acoustic guitar and a piano award.

Graced by glorious down and soft to the touch
thou art what I sleep with, for thee I owe much
To fertilize my dreams
On which my head leans,
My pillow.

Soft and luscious,
flight and flaky
go dreams,
and do take me
far away,
where heaven lies,
a place of ice cream
and butterflies
I ride upon,
thy golden mount
From the beginning
of the sheeps I count,
to the end
The alarm I flount.
My Pillow.

Oh my majesty,
where doth thine magic lie?
In thy bindings,
or the feathers that used to fly?
I will ponder
in that hazy mindscape
It will be much fonder
If I wake up late.
My pillow.

O! Alarm, do go away.
Day by day and play by play,
Thou entice me into bed,
onto which I smash my head
into thine sweet embrace
I must confess - I like the lacey-lace.
My sexy pillow.

I doth bid thee a good night. Sleep tight, no bed bugs bite, no fright, no Visa checking account plight.
Good Night.