Something Like This

I love Sundays because they go something like this:

Running late for church, oh my God my dress barely hits my knees when standing, eh, oh well, take up the gifts cause even Jesus loved those shunned.

Dark coffee with real cream, lots of laughs, flirting as the sun filters in through hazy windows.

New town kicks old town's butt, call our families, rub it in. 

Hot crispy chicken skin, glass of hot whole milk, sweet potato in the oven.

Curled up twisted in the covers, giggle and talk some smack before running off to be chased.

Hands holding hands and hot cocoa with an overflowing amount of little pink marshmallows that melt my overflowing heart.

Today was good.