Work Text:
O Angel's Pajamas!
You are silly, ludicrous,
piffling, pifflepuffing,
just, pffff,
where was I.
So preposterous you are,
pajamas of the angel.
I mean,
everyone knows,
angels don't sleep.
But sometimes, just as I'm poised
to plummet pleasantly
into the perfect pitch dark,
lo!
the angel appears all a-glow
looking ridiculous in those soft, touchable bed clothes.
He announces his arrival
and says he will sit and read while I slumber,
and though his favorite nighttime read is Georgette Heyer,
he says he will "puzzle his way
through those Ian Fleming books"
that I'm "so fond of."
I tell him not to bother.
He insists that he "wants to understand me."
I roll my eyes,
admonish my heart
to stop fluttering.
What did I do
to deserve such torture?
O Sky-Blue Pajamas.
You make his pale hair gleam
delicate as a cloud.
O Tartan Pajamas.
You wrap around him plush
inviting me to coil
and squeeze him tight as well (shhh don't tell)
But when the angel needs to shut me up
or make me forget why I was so annoyed,
he'll don you, Confounding Enchantress,
O Black and Red Snake Pajamas!
That's when I glare
and grit my teeth
and steam comes out of my ears
and I give up.
It's his ace in the hole,
his secret weapon,
his winning hand,
every time.
I fold.
A snort escapes.
Then a smirk, a giggle,
and we're both losing it,
rolling on the bed in raucous laughter.
You win, O Crimson and Onyx Snake Pajamas of the Angel.
You win.
