A Sunday morning like all the rest

Breakfast, Pierre Bonnard (1917)

it is a fine Sunday morning

like all the rest

usually breakfast is served in a little chipped bowl 

i will smile at your photograph trapped into the bronze frame

some times 

you will smile back

or

some other times

you will not even notice i am sitting here

but i will not say a thing because i know 
you like it this way

and as always

it is understandable

only today

a Sunday morning like all the rest

suddenly i feel tears escaping from my eyes

not knowing from where they came

or where they go

all blur and me standing here 

struggling to discover 

the meaning of this sea behind my eyelids

maybe it is just an allergic reaction 

an eye infection or dust or the sun...

or maybe it was my reflection in the mirror when i woke up

i looked at it hopping to find you on the other side

but there was nothing 

only a forgotten shirt thrown on a chair

and last night's kisses 

crippled

on the floor....