Sunday light drenches the window where you may upon the unmade bed.
You and your roughed up hair.
Watching the sun bathe your skin you smell like musky woods and fresh rain and I want to capture it in a bottle forever.
It could be our secret.
It could be just for me & you.
Saturday is fragmented glimpses of our future and I know that when we awake the morning will have to keep the secrets of the night before.
My body tangled in your black sheets.
Strands of vanilla and lavender scented hair scattered around your bed.
Your arms graze my fire skin and I am alive with lust and hints of love.
Sunday holds the key to happiness.
Sunday’s were made for love.