Sunday Mornings Without Her

It is a rainy Sunday morning

the sky is grey,

the air conditioning

competes with the sound

of the record player

 

I sit tucked up on my bed

with my hands holding

a warm cup of coffee,

eyes closed,

as the sun

peaks through the window

 

My thoughts drift to you

wishing the warmth

radiating on to me

was from your body,

hearts matching rhythm,

speaking softly,

discussing how we would wish

to spend the day together

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