Its Sunday morning
and Christmas is now over.
Looking at New Years.

Serious sitcom.
The four oh seven seven.
Painless suicide.

Flying through the air.
Streaks of white blend with color.
Sugarplum fairies.

Another week starts.
Building up to unwrapping.
Its almost Christmas.

When days turn to weeks
And I haven't heard your voice,
I know what I want.

The plane has been booked.
I'm preparing to greet you.
Enveloping arms.