Sunday afternoon.

Sunday afternoon,

A reminder that my best days are not yet lived,

For I have not yet lain on your chest

Lazily running my finger up your arm,

As the winter sun slips through the curtains,

To lay its rays on our bodies strewn ;

Nonchalantly on our bed.

I am yet to feel your laughter,

Reverberate against your chest.

A pleasant ripple on my skin, 

A gentle reminder that life courses through us,

That we are vibrating at the universe’s frequency because

here ,we are,

Expanding the cosmos 

by merely breathing

In this,exact moment.

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