Sundays

Sundays always make me wistful and reflective.  They make me question how I love, how I live, how I spend my time.  I haven't written poetry for a Slice yet, so I thought it might be a good night to try.


Sunday

Maybe if I sit still,
very very still,
so still that even my eyes
hesitate to blink --


so quiet and still that i can hear
the hair tucked behind my ear
the freeway hum of thoughts in my head
the  thump, thump of my heart not slowing down.

Maybe if I sit still,
very very still,
the world won't turn
the sun won't rise
the hour won't pass

and i can breathe you in
for one minute more.