Never on a Sunday

Written by: Patrice Lauren

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.