The smell of cinnamon and winter sun.

The smell of cinnamon
And winter sun,
Reading about a writer,
Who likes to run.
Stretched out on a soft single bed,
With a book and tea,
Or a beer instead.
No happier place for me,
That’s for sure.
I am relaxing and enjoying,
The frivolity I implore.
Alone for now,
With peace of mind.
Calm sensation,
And serenely blind.