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.
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