Sunday Morning. Kisses and Licks

Mercy, mercy me.
Things aint what they used to be.
I am king of the sharks. Soy el rey de la mar Tiburon.
el que te come a besos.

The pot is on the stove bubbling way, the smell wafting out onto the porch to entice the neighbors. The chairs have been drawn and the cat is curled up in an abandoned sandal. The wind caresses like a silent lover while dancing in between the trees. And the house is quiet. Except for the tapping of keys, there is nothing. The cloud bank tucks the city in for an afternoon nap. The birds rest from the heat in the shade, the boy next door has laid down his accordion. Kisses and licks. The grass bends but not enough to be deemed blown. The bamboo sways. Kisses and licks.

Mercy, mercy me. Things aint what they used to be. Where did the blue sky go?
Sunday morning, praise the dawning
I've got a restless feeling by my side.
Soy el rey de la mar Tiburon.

The cat stretches and yawns. Slowly blinks and sniffs the air before she settles down again. The pot on the stove needs to be stirred before it burns.