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On the Sundays I Cried and Tasted His Kiss.

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Below is the poem entitled On the Sundays I Cried and Tasted His Kiss. which was written by poet JeanMarie Marchese. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.

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On the Sundays I Cried and Tasted His Kiss.

My eyes closed, he made me breathe, he stopped...

and I cried, I drowned myself in the taste of how it should be as he opened me, opened his
hand and showed me the way time escapes from us, and I would say...


in that moment, I would whisper myself across his hands and we'd watch yesterday scatter,
I'd study confusion and laugh.

I wanted to tell him that if I walked, I'd stumble, my head would turn backwards towards
him waiting to see him run...

but I'd never call, not once, not on a Saturday when the sun broke the sky and clouds
shattered, pieces of my heart breaking...


for him to understand.

Nights followed me and daydreams appeared in his open mouth as I brushed my lips across
his shoulders and watched tomorrow come true, and I never wanted much, I never begged for
him, I fell to his side, I felt my life dissolve into him, I whispered secrets because
when he sleeps...

he never hears me...

he never knows I'm scared.

I wanted to agree, but blue never dropped down in straight lines and I was terrified my
tears would fall in patterns that resembled pain, I wanted to open my mouth and show him
who I was, but my voice sounds too pretty when I speak his name...

I wanted to tell him, but he slept...

he dreamed while my secrets kissed his skin and hushed the Saturdays I'd 


for him to call

and the Sundays when my tears tasted a little bit like how it should be

when my lips


tasted him.

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