🐌 The Beauty Of Sunday Morning 🐌 Poem by James McLain

The Beauty of Sunday Morning

His arm rests soft around my waist,
The morning light begins to trace
Its gentle fingers on my skin,
A day unhurried yet begun.

Open windows breathe the sea,
The surf still laps so lazily
Against the bushes, soaked with dew,
The world, for now, just me and you.

My neck, warm, moist beneath his breath,
A quiet space untouched by death—
For love, like this, transcends all time,
Each moment rich, a simple rhyme.

The waves, their rhythm, soft and sweet,
Compose our breakfast at our feet,
Eggs and toast with sea salt air,
Your lips I trace with out a care.

We linger, basking in this grace,
In the silent corners of this place,
Where every touch, a quiet sigh,
The morning's peace as low clouds fly.

Above us, the moon, still so full,
Its edges soft, the light so dull,
Yet warm and moist like tender skin,
Rich love beneath, deep tides within.

So here we lie, the day begun,
With no rush on to chase the sun,
For Sunday gives us space to be,
In this moment, quite yet free.

The world beyond, we let it fade—
Our hearts are full, our bed unmade.
With open windows, winds that move,
We stay—content, no need to leave.


Hope you enjoy Sunday morning.