Of bright mornings
and scorching beds
Your body lays
unmoved and spent
Rarely do you stay for coffee
but it's past 8 am
and still
you're here beside me.
Nothing is more amazing
than Sunday mornings spent
with your happy, sleeping face
nestled against my *******.
- PMT
Entry no. 8: Sundaze. It's a Tuesday in the country I'm in, but feels like a Sunday, so there.
A long overdue poem, I must say. Summer time has come, and so my veins sweat to write words to be shared through here. Have a nice morning (or evening) to you, stranger.
