Relative morning

The sun shines high in the sky,
but it's relative morning.
     Relative to us.

'I need to sleep for a week'
she says, cigarette in hand.

Her hands are pale, and long fingered, the nails painted red.
   I think, I'd like to paint a portrait of her hands.

We sit, drowsily slouched,
and watch people playing pool.
The hypnotic click of the balls,
 reminds me of the seconds ticking by.

          And once again I notice the clouds.