Time ticks forward and tocks back again in an eternal dreamscape.
Seconds expand like elastic, minutes melt like butter.
Dawn flickers against gluey lashes that shield a neon universe of dripping clock-faces and red raw lobsters.
Dusty breath undulates over bubblegum lips into a shallow pool. Rippling, cooling, shivering; an ellipsis floating past a taciturn speech bubble.
A lion yawn escapes as a dreamy ‘oh’. Paws and claws uncurl and flex exploring the endless plains, eagle spread.
Eyes closed; sight would only hinder this delicious, tangible moment. Fingertips tingle as they reach the precipice of warmth.
Then slowly… divinely… your sailing hands reach their destination:
The Cool Patch.
Famous for its crystal shores and crisp breezes, surf on soapy waves of newly washed sheets and luxuriate in fleecy pillow dunes. A playground for the senses. Perfect for every member of the family: hands, feet, the Eastern side of your face.
Cheeks crave the other side of the pillow, dark and minty like the underside of a rock. Legs tiptoe to the opposite points of the compass in search of icy seas, threatening to plummet over the edge of the world.
The moment is everlasting, transient.
But as moon bows to sun, limbs must set sail anew and make their Christopher Columbus way in pursuit of glacial climes once again.
My bed is a cloud. Five more minutes.
Originally published on Rust and Gold Dust