On Sundays –
when your company
is only your own,
the afternoons can be engulfing.
Every room is faded.
The banter of birds spills through the open window.
I can smell the smells of marinated flesh.
It’s the week’s end
9 – 5’ers gather for the last hurrah.
And I can feel you,
lingering in my inside.
It used to be us.
Out on the balcony, smoking your rollies;
drinking to the hangover cure.
An uninitiated kiss.
The laughter of two.
The casual happiness
that we never think to appreciate
while it’s there.
its because you just don’t think
- on Sundays.
Just a quick and casual musing -
when all the housemates were out and about
- taking advantage of the rare occurance
of having the house to myself.