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Sunday Morning Exists Outside of Time
Time isn’t designed
With Sunday morning in mind
Existing outside of the blind’s confines
It's getting lost in moments of transience
A small yet sure window to the world
Where there’s nowhere but here
A dusty window left slightly ajar
With the icy pane encased in light
Frost entering with morning’s delight
It’s laying with your love, limbs entangled
Noticing breath, slow and warm
It’s pressing play on the sweetest of folk songs
Notes gently bending, moulding into a Sunday
Morning’s stroll across your mind’s shaded eyes
It’s the mind that patiently sits
On the bellowing black coffee
Hurling great plumes of steam
Waiting patiently in earnest
For that first elated sip
It’s allowing for a feast to unfold
thanking each mouth full of flavour
It’s entering the world with no particular
Reasoning, just to witness and learn
It’s forgetting about next week
Forgetting about undesirable decisions
That will decisively need to be made
It’s waiting to be kissed
Instead of hunting for the next one
It’s Sunday morning, babe