Sundays

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.

Reviews

[KarinaT]

Oh how beautiful. You lucky man to have experienced this - it escapes so many and often times we don't appreciate it until too late.... It speaks of a man who loves his woman the way she is - complex and contradictory, rather than trying to mould her into an image that makes love "safe".

[DrD]

Karina, thanks for yur visit and your insights. It was the best and worst of times.

[Mic]

A Sunday reminisce of Sundays past. Such romantic thought, and only because you loved what she loved. Together on Sundays.

Beautiful piece, DrD.

[rubie]

Sad and beautiful. The speaker cannot seem to disassociate himself from all that a Sunday evokes for him. But does he even want to? Perhaps not. There seems to be a comfort to all of these mournful musings.

[DrD]

Thank you for your visit, Rubie. You are always welcome here.

[victoria]

So wonderful the memories of these Sunday moments crafted with love unending, a touching write that flows with the ease of Sunday itself

[DrD]

They did, Victoria, in the time that was . . . .

[Bette]

Love the last bit of bread cheese a cheap whine , few accomplish this kind of love , a lot miss it or lose it ~ but no one ever stops wanting it. Well done, another beautiful piece~

[DrD]

Thank you, Bette, it was a good time, the best of times

[Just Some Dreamer]

This is amazing. I was actually moved. The poem lets us on a beautiful romance that has gone and past, and the subtle joy of Sundays, which I relate to. I always think a true poet is one that does not need rhyme to create flow, but the beauty of the words. And you did that quite well. Bravo!

[DrD]

Many thanks and I hope you visit again soon

[quinfinn]

one can sense the distant longing in your words herein and the whole idea of Sundays is no less than a perfect symmetry for the feelings which this piece evokes. i can feel myself in the photograph you masterfully produce , to the point of being perhaps a secret admirer of your experiences with this cherished and beloved memory. oh my God, you have made me the poetry papparazzi! but seriously, this is intensely moving and masterfully penned.

[DrD]

Ah, Quin, you always make me feel like I really did something. I appreciate that.

[Jo March]

I love how down-to-earth, and un-fanciful your writing is. It's so truthful and rich.
It's so nice to see such talent.

[DrD]

I never had a fancy emotion, Jo. Feeling needs to be related as it is or it will not be felt by others. Thank you so much for your visit.

[Marie]

This is so beautiful...Sundays forever...

[DrD]

Thanks, Marie, I appreciate your kind words

[jacob erin-cilberto]

"love me or i'll die/ love me or i'll kill you"

the tender, subserviant woman/ the aggressive dominant woman"

two sides of the coin...love is like this, especially when we are young and love with reckless abandon.

"dance against the tent of the night"

scrumptous line that one is.


and the open ended ending is interesting with this...you capture a snapshot. but don't give us the whole story...i was expecting a turn for the worse towards the end..a break up or a death, and yet...we are left wondering...did this last, are they still like this...or are Sundays lonely now?

but in a way i liked how you ended it where you did.

reminds me of a couple relationships i had that just ended because of circumstances...not because it went bad..it was just how it happened..and thus, only positive, loving memores were left.

nice piece

jacob

[DrD]

Thank you, Jacob. Your reviews are always complete and appreciated greatly.

[J. J. Nightingale]

After I dab these tears, I'll try to comment .. ..
I remember mornings, when noting mattered but kisses
I remember noon times when nothing was eaten ..
I remember evenings when we traveled far, without leaving our room ..
I remember Loving , and the simplicities of Love ..


Favorite line, "In seductions so subtle my mind could not

Understand the message of my body " ..

To say this is good, just seem so wrong .. It is so much more .. You touch hearts at every turn .. and I can't get my fill of you .. ..

Jasmine .. xx

[DrD]

Thanks again, dear Jazz. Your comments are special because you are

[J. J. Nightingale]

DITO .. J.