sunday morning moves in slow motion.
by the time i could snake out of frayed sheets,
the sun started to dance through wooden blinds
my freckled cheeks stretched as a yawn fought chapped lips
this is where the day begins
stand emotionlessly in the nearest mirror
everyday it's the same conclusion,
i need a shower and nutella.the hours roll along down an uneventful boulevard
stare at fabrics hung until i find something to throw over my head
listened to the static as it cracked through short strands of hair
waiting on a phone call to send me out the door
waiting for a car to stop getting every red light in town
waiting between a nylon belt and a synthetic cushion
sunday afternoon moves on a treadmill.
napping and kissing only leads to one thing,
but for me, i just have to go home.
waiting for a car to arrive too soon
waiting to talk to you when i get home
waiting for sunday morning to start again.