The Floor Heater

It was a low, indistinct, continous sound at first.
In the coming light of day, it grew.
Murmuring saffron regalia ;
a golden red saree sweeping the polished marble
on the floor of your contemptible imagination.
You woke half a stop behind.
You always do this:
play genie with the focal ratio,
discern vague red shapes
from rubbing your eyes
as someone beautiful
in recent memory.