Monday wears a robe,
not for meetings—but for myth,
coffee hums with cream,
playlist curls around my hips,
emails blink but I delay.

Deadlines tap the glass,
but I sip with sovereign grace,
legs draped on the desk,
gaze edits the calendar,
joy dressed in quiet revolt.

Time begins to stir,
but I move in candlelight,
tasks undone on purpose,
Monday moans in velvet tones—
soft, sly, and unapologetic.