Come on Wednesday

Wednesdays are like come-ons.
Tempting while I blush
and engulfing me in the spirit of madness.
     The good spirit (sans spirits),
     a phantom release of pleasure.

Free from the escape,
unencumbered by the echo
of days just passed.

Wednesdays are to me an image
ripe and pure.
The vixens of the mid-week 
impelling my vocabulary,
nay, my gravity!
Altering the force of my axis and 
wielding me with naïve joy.

How sensitive and sarcastic of me to fight
an unearthly invitation.
Like the first cynic, 
shall I lie with the dogs?

Or open free and wide the lung space
I'm apportioned 
and open,
VASTLY OPEN, 
those breathing apparatus;
while owning the best of myself
on the best of my days?

A question to be sure,
but one of obvious resolve.