Never On a Sunday

The Friday night pumpkin coach That delivered you to my door, Has come to whisk you home again, To live, live your own life once more. It could have been a fantasy, You being here, so close to me. There was some kind of payment given, And things felt as good as they used to be. With silent encumbered emotion, Northern light-like spectacle reignited. With only a spark from your tactile passion, This blind one was once again sighted. The roller coaster ride You've taken me on for years Passed as a gentle bemusement, Until all became perfectly clear. Silent still in darkness, Surrounded in circumference, Imagination rallies the rockets. Again, comes surging the tide. Awash, aghast, transfixed in the cyclone Living in the moment for me, with you. Forget what I've learned about purpose, Remembering how it feels: alive, free, and true. For twenty-four hours we lived Just the way we wanted to be. Transgressions, migrations, destinations, Past forgetting you showed me The way to set my soul free. Whisper to me in the dimness Of predawn's early plight. Ignore the stoic stone culprits Who rob us of illicit delight. With day comes the light, and robs comfort. It all feels so wrong by day. This devilment strongest in moonlight, With our next rendezvous, a full month away.