Kissed by Sunday morning,
soft light leaking towards me.
My fears and doubts fall
to the floor,
lie crumpled with Saturdays clothes,
your body holds
my stare.
Under your cover of logic and plans,
wild and unabashed
somewhere in there -
Sheets slip away and my fingers trace
these secrets onto your skin.
Your voice...
In soft, waking moans,
echoes through, calling my bones
to listen.
Your neck,
curling into my breasts.
Lips, balm to the wide, heavy heart,
open to the world
but no one.
Remembering now,
while you gracefully,
fast and unknowingly
open a pinhole, unleashing it all -
Sundays were somedays,
maybe nevers,
content to love unattached -
But here with you,
reaching for me while sleeping,
I am remembering.
Details of a place I've never been -
You have me longing to be there again,
In this kind of love.
Here.
In Sunday morning.
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