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."

Kiss me a galaxy
and I’ll orchestrate
the best musical
with each and
every shooting star

Kiss me a note
and I’ll generate
volumes of kisses
imprinted for
each and every moment
I have wanted to
kiss you back

I can taste the clouds
when our hands are intertwined
and his utterances always linger
but more like euphoria than
a shattered spine.
And I've never spoken to him
a lukewarm truth,
I've never loved him in grey;
We're amateurs,
cradled by caffeine on
Monday mornings,
still learning how flowers
can break through skin
that's mourning.

When you wake and think it's Monday night, then you look again, it's getting lighter, it seems that dream was just a noose that's twisting tighter around your neck.

She gives me a peck, is this what I have become?
a crumb for her to nibble on.

I persevere
shower and shave,
I will forever be
a slave to coffee,
tea
is not me
not
on a Monday
not
when I wake and then think
that it's done
only to realise
Monday
has not yet begun.

and so we get to start again
get it right this time?
ignore the past
but learn from it too?
no wonder I am so confused.

#thisjourneyofdays