The Perfect Sunday

It was a Sunday.

The type of Sunday

that told stories 

of soft sheets and 

Island Cotton where

snow fell outside 

in bundles of Heaven.

It was the type of Sunday

Where soft kisses met 

Skin so soft it was Angels. 

White light coaxed

soft laughter and eyes 

feasted on Nakedness. 

It was the type of Sunday

that was never supposed to end

and had so much love,

soft tears on cheeks.

It was the type of Sunday

for soft, runaway hands and spoons.

It was the type of Sunday where

Love was effortless.