Sunday's somewhere in the teal dawn
wandering on a lukewarm breeze.
Monday pens weary travelogues
with fugal prose of frozen seas.

Tuesday holds a gilded halo
of sunlit cirrus atop the knoll.
Wednesday gathers ornate words
and begets infinity upon a scroll.

Pale gleams flutter
upon a lap of willowing streams
and in a dream, the sun melts
as the moon sets at the end of my bed.

Island marooned, mana consumed,
and with ancient runes, a song is stitched
as love is woven in the white of wool threads.

Thursday hums a quiet tune
and lilts over the azure morn.
Friday trods the afternoon
through blossom and thorn.

Saturday nestles in cool dusk;
a shroud of purple-painted skies.
We'll blot a scarlet streak of stars
and crown the night with your hazel eyes.