Days of The Week

She is more comforting, and warming,

than southern blues on Monday mornings.

She shines brighter than all of the disco lights

in speakeasy jazz clubs on Tuesday nights.

She is as elegant as can be, a formidable adversary

for classical piano during Wednesday tea.

She is as delicate as opera house heartache,

which seems to be the best remedy for

Thursday night headaches.

She is a strange combination

of excitement and doom,

filling my soul with Rock n Roll

underneath a Friday night moon,

and a cigarette scented folk-song basking

in the Saturday sunshine at noon.

Sundays are for sex, wrists bound and

spellbound, while the soundtrack of her heart

loops all day long in the echoing background.