Sundays Best
Appearing in the night, my dreams lucid in your grasp,
I wonder if you are really there;
Whilst pondering over the appearance of this brass clasp.
In its reflection I search for you, you are my air.
Please tell me it will be okay,
Where shall I go, you are all that I know
Please tell me you know the way,
Where shall I go, please take me home.
I see I love you in the word forever and a day,
Why does forever seem like a tailored bet.
Though the word forever has gone astray,
I miss your tailored vest on sundays rest.
It is something similar to 1960’s dance.
I guess it is something much like a trance.
Copyright © Brooklyn Brown | Year Posted 2025
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