Sunday morning

Melt-melt, dissolve,
like a lump of ice.
Launch out, spreads,
as spring water.

Silence in window open
Clouds.
I lay there on Sunday moing,
legs dangling from the ceiling ...

In the stuffy air in the kitchen
floating sofa
wash, wake,
close the valve

Fixed twilight rooms
clock ticks.
This time, the same
Like the old times ...

You again are calling for something
In this strange day
But to say I feel like,
Absolutely lazy.

Quiet-empty, nobody home
Nobody expects a call.
I lay there on Sunday moing,
legs dangling from the ceiling ...