intrigue

      w
            r
                  a
            p
      s­

me around your finger.

keeps me hanging to every word,

        name

                story

                        ­place

                                that slips out of your mouth.

trapped in

- - hugs - -

that i can only imagine but not feel.

gazing and searching for

          s t a r s

in your eyes

Like pitch dark chocolate
Sunday nights are fi-i-ne

But always leave you wishing
For less bitterness

Let’s pretend Sundays last forever
and spend hours drowsing in the sun.
Let stress slowly fade, like a passing parade
and our cares will seem light as feathers.

I hear clouds still collage on blue canvas,
and deciduous leaves turned bright colors
we’ll picnic, we’ll laugh, and lay in the grass
and this Sunday will outshine all the others.

A little while earlier
There were
cumulus
clouds


I do savour
the colour
of water
the pitter-patter
of heavy shower
the flavour
of wet air.

A slow skull, but steady
as four pull by in unison,
the river readies me for another day
with current confidences
quietly spoken

In comparison, the busy chat
of small brown birds seems rude,
but cheek and charm
forgive a lot
if not all

It’s to the bees I’ll look
for industry this Sunday,
though if their lead will be followed
is yet to be decided