There’s something sexy about a hotel bed,

Sheets all mussed in morning light

As the gentle sound of highway traffic

Drifts through windows, triple glazed

For weary drivers to get their eight hours.

Slipping into air con rooms as skin will pucker

With pure delight, just knowing

Those cool white sheets spread like an ocean

And a duvet, too heavy to lift, but a comfort to hold,

Drifting to sleep on a mattress cloud,

And waking still covered, not tangled in sheets,

More like a princess in a story book,

Revived to life with a plastic kettle

And sachets of coffee like magical potions.

I love the dream of a hotel bed, even alone,

There’s just something there, something enticing

In the concrete haven off the M25.