Somnolence

The patch of sunlight
Moving across the room
Alights on books heaped
On a table barely seen
’neath their weight,
Clothes strewn
O’er mismatched chairs,
Like kitten-battered
Balls of yarn,
A tousled head
Poking out the quilts,
Blinking, bleary-eyed.
“Please, five minutes more.
It’s too cold to move.”