there's something about flannel sheets against bare skin.
the delicious billowing of a down comforter, the sigh of air as it falls, sleep already entangled in the pillow, and the decadance of carving two hours of sleep out of the solidity of a winter's afternoon.

sleeping naked is different than sleeping clothed. the way the fabric moves against your skin, and how the arm that is left draping over the covers can feel every air current that sifts through the room.
there is a sense of unity, of the unbroken line of your body cradled by bed, whole unto itself.

and, waking, there is the moment of fullness, acknowledgement that those dancing dreams were contained in this flesh, that all the world is contained within this flesh.

buddhacalmhappy.
yes.