Resting
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Irony plagues my motive for choosing to wake.
For rather than snoozing, productivity offtakes.
For learning oozes a chance for me to break
From my snooze; sleep I am able to shake.
Your fingertips graze my cheek,
my head still and warm on your chest.
It is a lazy Sunday morning, the end of the week,
with nothing to do but rest.
This week was tough,
the days slow and long.
