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.