Sunday Morning

Your lips on my forehead



And I’m time-travelling except

I don’t know if I’m going

To the past or to the future

Or to a third dimension

Somewhere inside myself

But the wet paint

As you water-color my back

Reminds me that I’m already

Where I need to be

Here and now

Where second chances with first loves

Taste like pink-lemonade, goldfish

And cherry chapstick

For the first time I’m not worried

If you’ll find me in your sleep

I know you will

And I’m not worried about tomorrow

Because we have today and

I never thought we would have this day


Your head nuzzles into my shoulder

As the morning slips through your blinds

And I can’t help but look at you gently

At the way you’re clutching the

Stuffed bear from when you were a kid

And how your face is untouched yet

By the world like a sleeping infant

I watch the sun dancing off your figure

This time, not from your laugh

And I think it’s best this way because now

The light follows you through the day

Uninhibited and not contained

Inside where you might forget it

And I might miss it


This morning is so tender

This second chance effortlessly gentle

You are

Someone new, and I am too

This morning we are not tangled in

Our minds or in the world

Just the quilts on your bed

And the sunlight as it kisses our foreheads

Saying “wake up, this day is for you”


This poem is about: 


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741