Saturday

To wake up naturally on a weekend morn
Is oft' life's most simple of pleasures
No commitments to honour, no rush to rise.  
My eyes still gritty and my face rough.
I pull myself up to my elbows
Resting my head against the cold steel frame
the traffic outside like of waves on the shore.
eyes closed, I drift off on a sea of delicious nonsense.  
But somehow you always invade my thoughts.  
And the old anger returns.  
The anger born from things unsaid
But hunger makes me stir - and the need to pee.  
I sit on the edge of the bed, yawn and then rise.
Till tomorrow, old love. Same time same place.