I love to read Sunday papers,
even the 'glossies' and I try to do
the hard crossword in the Express.
Eat toast in bed, scribble poetry
on re-cycled paper from Brazil
and make fresh Arabica coffee,
dawdle as the steam rises.
Life rises and I stare through the kitchen
window, watching the snails climb
the backwall, eating the clematis- again
on my day off,
I love to go back to bed - just because
it's better than getting up at 6am.
[I don't think of You any more, at that time]
In bed, in life, in time - now
I dream-out, sides of twilight zones
and become tinkerbell or Peter Pan
or someone other
never-ever-again-land character
from my imagination/reality - checked
and I launch Captain Hook to the crocodile.
- With my shiny teeth, I bite down
on the words and Wish You away.
Funny how my mind meanders:
lay in the bath, thinking about writing
poetry and shaving my legs.
Bronze trophy winner
Adding your comment:
Kiddin, kinda. 
Ahhh...my own perception of a perfect day, as well. Beautiful, visceral, with a touch of bittersweet humor, to boot. How very versatile of ya, Darlin'. 
Good luck in the contest, Sweetie...I wish you many unending Sundays such as this, my Friend...but with only sweet & tender memories to cuddle with. 
meeeeooow
