Barry White and Sam Cooke on a Sunday Afternoon

Resting your head on the curve of my shoulder

Silent breathing, a whisper in time

The needle drops as the winds get colder

A welcoming blanket intertwined

The static of the song lingers in the air

The bouquet of your skin fills my lungs

Barry White crooning in our ears

You’re the first, the last, my everything

Not to yield from this moment

Lest I forget just how I feel

Our enmity lies dormant

Replaces the act with the real

The needle drops again, eyes take a look

Your head reposing on my shoulder, so true

A tone of affection, the sound of Sam Cooke

Darling you send me, honest you do, honest you do...

Author Notes: Times are sometimes best when you are not doing anything.