it’s saturday

i hate the way

the work week still lingers,

the sigh of sunday morning

has yet to reach my fingers.

I shake it out,

I shake it off,

i’m finding that it’s not too tough

to allow my shoulders

to remember

that sunny sunday,

that came in september

you held me close,

so close and tight

as we tried too hard to

ignore the light

that everyday

bursts through the door

and scatters shadows

across the floor

along the right side of my bed

where once you lay

in that pool of dread

we knew that it was over and done

until another september had come and gone.