It’s morning again.
The second day of the week
hangs grumpily over the bed,
the clock blinks the hour in red
reminding, it’s crucial to get out of bed.
I turn around to your side,
But see you sleeping without a care in the world
realising, maybe today you have decided to miss work.
The sheets half cover your face
And your body shifts closer to mine,
As if to tell me it’s alive,
And it knows that I am awake,
Looking at your closed eyes and feeling your rhythmic breath,
With a sadness that can only be explained
By the calendar’s claim,
Of it being a tuesday,
And life not giving a man time enough,
To look at a beautiful sleeping face.
