Sundays are our time
We lay, crossed limbed
I smile at your chuckle
The crosswords have become a celebration

I inhale your scent
And your fingers graze the small of my back
We talk
For these moments I forget all else

I wish everyday was this
I watch you when you are not looking
Gleeful reactions to the morning
The window outlining your awe

My teacup is full
My chest expands and outside noise fades
A fresh breeze
Pricks my eyes