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.