Poem: Wednesday Morning Call.
Wednesday Morning call.
.
.
Lying here in bed
Watching the sun through
Heavy winter velvet curtains,
As various dark areas
Are painted luminous
By the early morning light.
Seeing the frill of extreme ingress
At the very top of uneven fixings
I wait to witness the progression
Of the seconds, and wonder
If it is eight o’clock yet.
.
.
