on this day. the one day of the week i am not a slave-laborer my favorite day, Sunday recalling your voice singing loudly the lyrics profound the passion and the skill rebounding incredibly, my dance inspiring excitement in your eyes oblivious the muse is my mask like something so beautiful it takes on different forms each time you look at it the truth is, it's not an illusion disillusions of new friendship where you were sitting when we met at the coffee shop indifferent to my muse and not avoiding my eyes now hungover from being played by one finger in perfect harmony with your residual relationship energy beneficial to the universe