Bad Poetry for a Wednesday Afternoon

I suppose I should feel guilty
Falling asleep in front of an open window,
The sun warming my feet
While unNovemberly breezes cool my face.
I suppose I should be moving
Unpacking and settling
Preparing for guests
And kids
And life.
I suppose this means I'm lazy,
This squandering of time,
While my thoughts are cloudy
And my emotions unsteady with changing history
Things I am a part of and things that pass me by.
But suppose my eyes were heavy
And the air so sweet.
And the crackle of drying, dying leaves
Was singing my name
Urging me to lay down my head
To sleep
And dream
Promising that time will slow just for me.
Just this once, I suppose.