The Wayward Yesterday

I SAT upon a mushroom
waiting within a dream
of a cloudless Saturday.
Our meeting was expected
but by no means guaranteed.
You blow my mind;
well worth my time.
And here I am, another day.
Still sitting. A patient wait.
thoughts of you I contemplate.

Sunday surrounds me
Yet sky, like mood, offends the title.
Both are dark, saturated, growing gloomy

I don't think you're coming!
An exclamation directed heaven-high.
The past sublimates into the present.
Rationalization manifests into a snake,
crawling into my mind it slithers
looking for the perfect place to unwind.
I don't know what to think right now but I do know I'm let down.
A top spinning on a table, turning round and round.
I must learn the art of letting go.
Its a skill we all should know,
but it comes especially difficult
when these thoughts pertain of you.

If only yesterday were like today,
sun and optimism abound.
My outlook would 180.
Lips henceforth smiling freely
without the drudgery of a carried frown.