Sleeping in

My simple joy of sleeping in
Begins with recognising that
The actual price of waking late
Is losing handful habit hours,
Which I can anyway recoup
In handful minutes through the day.
My calendar is fungible,
At least in Lego blocks of time
Which I may play around with on
A lazy day with few demands.
Of course, the real joy in this
Is this exact same exercise
Of self-delusion rationalised
In sleepy seconds that alarms
Attempt to steal away from me.
Alarms are off’d, and eyes are off’d
And blissful ignorance is on’d
Until the hour of waking brings
Another opportunity
To do this all over again
And smile my guilty-pleasure-smile.

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