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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

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