A Sunday

Illustration: Yelena Bryksenkova

I like

the streak of golden sun in parted dark hair,
the susurrus of summer from cracks of rugged mountains,
old men discussing spent Sundays over absinth and a box of open peanuts,
languid lovers on bright Eurasian heather in wide moorlands,
soft cat warm on my lap, asleep, oblivious of all existence
and the television on, sleepy-eyed, falling on your shoulder.