Curling up beneath a blanket warm.
On a rain lashed night.
Watching a film in black and white.
Coming in exhausted, kicking off shoes.
Falling back into the chair.
As someone else hands you a cup of tea.
A parcel at the door, quickly unwrapped.
The feel of a new book in your hand.
The time to sit and enjoy.
A brand new note book.
Still clean and bright.
Awaiting stories you will write.
Small indulgences these.
But oh what joy they bring.
Little things can mean a lot.
3rd of April 2015
Craft a poem about spoiling your Self or the Self of another. Let decadence run wild.