Homeless Still Breakfast Sunday Poem by Cigar Aficionado

Sleeping is laying in the days morning
humidity waiting for church's
monogamousness
to arrive.
Money without prayer gifts food with out
faith flies in thier minds stretched
forth hand hungers need.
A day to clean souls and clothes lessons
weeks end being home once again
in arms beggars lot.
Sunday is here much is the humidity lungs
breath is near here within reach.
Donuts filled with the cream of life coffee
minds alertness having gone
returned on Sunday.
The wealthiest fun day saving grace for our
Sunday in
the street once a week
wanes
time running
let it not run so fast.