Sunday, November 23, 2008
Sunday only feels like Sunday. No other day feels like Sunday. A peaceful, quiet morning for me after last night filled with naughty dreams and naughty thoughts in the short awake spaces between the dreams.
Sunday mornings make me want to be looking out of hotel windows at strange places with two queen beds and the news on the TV.
Sunday mornings make me want to walking gingerly across the gravel driveway of my home in my bare feet to get the morning paper.
Sunday mornings make me want to be pushing a tee into the ground with a golf ball on top.
Sunday mornings make me want to be sitting on the large porch in a small town listening to the birds and the dogs.
Sunday mornings make me want to be looking out of hotel windows at strange places with two queen beds and the news on the TV.
Sunday mornings make me want to walking gingerly across the gravel driveway of my home in my bare feet to get the morning paper.
Sunday mornings make me want to be pushing a tee into the ground with a golf ball on top.
Sunday mornings make me want to be sitting on the large porch in a small town listening to the birds and the dogs.
// posted by sinner @ 8:48 AM 
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