Coffee on Monday morning
carries a richer aroma
and a sweeter flavor
than the same brew
in the same cup
any other day of the week.
If our minds, our experiences
define so many of our tastes,
consider the satisfying joy a handshake
brings to a lonely old hermit.
Imagine the luscious splendor
of a long walk during a summer drizzle
after the endless confinements
of hospitals, doctors, and the funeral home
when she departed this realm.

sitting blankly in this chair again,
feet planted firmly on this patterned carpet.
the air conditioner hums softly,
pulling me with the soft cushion of coldness.
exhaustion drags my eyes down,
away from the glaring lights of this screen.
voices droning on in the background,
smiles, handshakes, "how do you do?"'s.
the ringing phone sounds like one big sigh,
i suppose it's just another Monday.

Sometimes on late Monday nights
I'll climb out of bed,
get dressed,
and walk outside
into the middle of the street.
The lack of cars and people
brings peace.
It's just me,
accompanied by the steady hums
of building ventilation systems.
I often think about old friends
long gone.

I remember how you’d say
We should spend time not money

But I spent my money on time
And not even my gold encrusted piece
Could freeze the moment you were mine

I can’t tell the difference,
Is it my watch ticking,
Heart beating or the metronome?
Is it the smoke or the pheromones?

You can’t remember the moans
But you remember how the liquor tricked you,
Made her loose
Made you lick her

And you found the gold mine at the meeting of her thighs,
It wasn’t only on her wrist and in her eyes

I’m not one to pray
But my knees got ******
From worshiping a Sunday kind of love

In the name of father time,
You - the sun
And my holy spirit

And I guess it’s true what they say
That nothing good happens after 2 AM

Then again, there was you
And then those 2 PM Monday blues

And it’s ironic how time heals all wounds,
but no drug, god or serum can save us from
tempus edax rerum

I found myself saying:
"I want to relive Monday;
every last moment
til I went home"

and believe me
that was true.

I wanted to feel you close again,
to feel no-one else
but you.

to look out into the depths
of a crowd and still meet the eyes
of you.

to remind me of the friendship,
that blossomed into something more
with you.

to hold your hand and squeeze
it tight when my laugh was caused
by you.

to stroll along the streets without a
care knowing that I
had you.

to feel the way you made me happy
the feeling I hope I give
to you.

to rekindle that padlock security
that I was truly safe
with you.

You see I've come to realise,
or maybe more so hope,
that when it all comes down to it
that I could finally be,
with you.

so with that in mind, I say again,
with joy secure like stone,

*"I want to relive Monday;
every last moment
til I went home"

If Monday was a person,
Maudlin would be the lesson,
"Oh no, not another Monday."
"What became of Sunday funday?"
Yes, it's Monday, so it seems,
Same old dreary routine,
Back to the rat race again,
Commuting by car or train,
Wage slaves, off for gain,
Maudlin Monday on their brain,
"Yes, it's Monday, so it seems,
Same  old dreary  routine."