Nighttime and the small ocean of pink peonies and their neon leaves studded with primrose buds peak at me through the billowing waves stuffed with thick cotton to warm me through the night.
A duvet then, primed and poised to enact its sole purpose in its rather long life (I hope), crisp in its linen sheen, brightly cleaned, chaste smelling the flaxen trimmings ruffled in lilting ripples, the sight for night.
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