All I want on a Sunday morning is to
luxuriate in my laziness. I want to watch
old movies with the volume turned up loud,
the newspaper crackling as I shift my supine
body on the couch, the words of duplicitous
politicians and photos of narcissistic socialites
mashed under my ass.
I want to gaze out my window where heat
rises on the street like steam from a gumbo
pot while I lie, cool as a nectar cream snowball,
in my Maggie The Cat slip, painting my toenails
a color called Bad Influence.
I would sip Southern Wedding Cake coffee
from the chipped china cup I knocked off
the bedside table in a moment of
passion and savor a fresh chocolate croissant,
tender flakiness that melts on the tongue like
vampires melt in the sunlight.
As the sun climbs the sky, I’d meander into the afternoon
with the expectation of an early summer storm when
we would go upstairs and slip between our cool, white
sheets and not be heard from again until
Monday morning.
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Shared on One Stop Poetry and Poets United.
Charlotte Hamrick 
And who really, wouldn’t want such a Sunday for themselves and a loved one? Very nicely written with vivid images.
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that sounds like a delicious sunday morning to me…a very comfortable shoe you present today would love to slip into it…
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This is wonderful, such imagery! I loved it. 🙂
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this sounds like the perfect sunday morning to me…old movies and newspaper crackling…nice
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Thought provoking title given the context of your lines. The wants and the would in your poem enhance the effect with revealing details of the speaker’s personality and imagination. Enjoyed reading your poem very much.
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What a delicious way to spend a Sunday!
Loved your ending.
Thanks for sharing.
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Thanks to you all for your comments. xoxo
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Sounds really comfortable to me! I guess next time I bite into a chocolate croissant I will see a vampire fading : )
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Heck, this is what I want to do every day. Is it so wrong?
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Not wrong but oh so right! This was my plan on that fateful Sunday morning that ended up completely the opposite of my intentions. Hence, the title. Thanks for stopping by, Mark.
Martin, this is what happens when I watch True Blood — images stay with me and end up in poems. lol
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