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Location: Chicago, Illinois, United States

Monday, September 26, 2011

Sunday Morning

Sunday morning is best near a sunny south-facing window. The drink, something cheery with a cherry, olive, or twist, cools the throat as the sun warms the eyelids. The room is white even with eyes closed. The day is full of promise and there's no fear at all.

If you think you look ugly in the direct sunlight, I've seen you there and you're beautiful. It brings out your flaws, your innocence, and I melt. In that light to touch you seems a sin.

(I'll remember you said that when I need to be happy.)

8 Comments:

Blogger sybil law said...

Awwwww.

Love it.

10:14 PM  
Blogger JMH said...

Thanks. Sunday morning is the best.

10:20 PM  
Blogger jorg wobblington lopez said...

I'd put a little poison in that drink and wait till yer out to start with the touching.

7:45 PM  
Blogger JMH said...

Weird.

6:40 PM  
Anonymous Kerri Anne said...

I'm hereby daydreaming about sun warming my eyelids while I sit in the cozy warmth of my office building, not so eagerly anticipating walking home in rain that's been steadily falling for hours. But it's dark now and rain I can't see isn't really rain at all, right? Pretty sure that's a solid premise. Or would be if there were whiskey in my coffee right now. And now I've traded daydreaming to wishful thinking.

9:03 PM  
Blogger JMH said...

They sell whiskey, you know?

What you can't see can't hurt you, except for bacteria and viruses and some strange man who I'm pretty sure is standing right behind me right now.

I don't like walking home in the rain either, but that's because I'm made of sugar.

10:09 PM  
Blogger Rassles said...

I am having wicked deja vu right now. "To touch you seems a sin," he said, "I don't have the right." He was correct. He didn't. But I can't remember who he was, if "you" was me, if this was a dream or a bar.

Lovely.

1:13 PM  
Blogger JMH said...

Thanks, Rassles. Sometimes I doubt I'm making sense to anyone but myself, and even that is dubious at best.

I have that same sort of symptom. My life is a gumbo. I'm rarely sure what actually happens (it probably involves sausage and zydeco), but certain days my dreams are better than my life and then vice-versa and then around 3 A.M. someone says something and it seems to pull it all together.

And then it's gone. Hmmm.

7:16 PM  

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