light floods the bedroom
rays of sunshine seeping through the blinds
hitting your face, a warm glow on your skin
you won’t wake up for a while, and even then
Sunday mornings call for lying in bed for hours
fingers
intertwined
breakfast being made
(more of a brunch)
acoustic guitar, the official soundtrack of Sunday
accompanied by our laughter and
the sink running as we wash the dishes
late mornings and early nights
there is nothing else to do on Sunday
in bed once again by nine o’clock
smiles
kisses
hushed voices
already awaiting next Sunday