Sunday

It is Sunday, no reason to leave the bed I pull the blanket about my shoulders And stare at the ceiling You loved Sundays and came to me With toothpaste kisses and Warmed your feet against mine You loved putting your head on my shoulder And suggesting things we could do Museums and shows, exhibits and parks There was no limit because it was Sunday And you loved Sundays There were days when your eyes were soft Saying “Love me or I’ll die” And days when passion clawed with your eyes Saying “Love me or I’ll kill you” And from the bed I can see the flowers You planted on the balcony and almost feel Your fingertips coursing my cheek In seductions so subtle my mind could not Understand the message of my body And you would finish with trembling breath Before surrendering to soft, embarrassed giggles Hands fitted into each others, we would walk Pausing only for an expresso at Dario’s And a while to lean on the railing of the bridge To watch the dark mystery of the canal moving upon itself We would lie in the tall grass and watch fireflies Dance against the tent of night Then race madly to catch the last train home Where we would eat bread and cheese And drink cheap wine on the table we made from boxes And life was young, alive and beautiful Because it was Sunday, and you loved Sundays.