Waking up can be hard sometimes;
I blame the lack of sunshine
and not the dull ache that holds my heart tight.
It is then,
at my weakest and most venerable,
I will line up a track and listen to a song.
Leg twitching, eyes closed
and suddenly I am free.
Free of duty,
free of pressure,
free of time,
free to just be me.
Sitting here allowed to be
The best three minutes and forty-seven seconds
of the most mundane day of my week.
I peel off the condom wrapper that I spot stuck on to your elbow.
I toss it to the floor next to the Gatorade bottle that has stained your teeth and tongue.
“It smells filthy in here.” I say.
You expect a reaction as my eyes flit over your naked body.
“Red-leggings just left. I have yet to wash up.”
As I watch you disappear in to the bathroom I can’t help but wonder…
where has all the romance gone?
Caught between Shakespeare and super ribbed latex I suppose.
Mondays are difficult.