Hear the chimes ringing,
this sleepy Sunday singing.
Monday will bring persimmons,
and Tuesday a touch of snow.
Eyelids grow heavy,
the evening siestas are winning.
The trees shade are giving
and sweet scents are brimming
among these lovely Sunday trimmings.

Oh, what a fine Spring day.

I walk into the room,
my coat still fresh
with the scent of tobacco.
From the corner of one eye,
I glimpse you
and you glimpse me.
I nod. You nod.

I walk forward into the store.
I could've sworn you were leaving,
but you follow me in
with a friendly hello.
How did you know?
How did you know
that I wanted to see you, too?
Talk to you, too?
Palms sweat, I fix my hair
over and over again.
I like you,
but I can't say it.
I've watched this dance before.

Oh, the games we play.

I dream of clouds
that never rain.
I dream of orange-colored umbrellas
that shade us from both the sun
and the downpours.
I dream of sweet, sandy shores.

I saw something in your countenance
that almost haunts me.
We all let ourselves dream
as much as we want.
I want to stop dreaming
and have the real thing.

I'm jittery as ****,
just plain out of luck.
Wishing I could duck
out and take just one drag.

Surely, that wouldn't be so bad.
I'm going a tad mad.
My will has never been ironclad.

We play among the vines
of overgrown, ripe wine.
The birds fly before us,
their songs a bittersweet chorus.
Lemony drops of dew
line each fence, window, and hall.
You drop your shawl
and walk towards me, your head held tall.
I will never forget the call
of these sweet, simple Saturdays
that go by in a haze.

Take a deep breath,
and forget about death.
Once more, I set the stick aglow.
My fingers smell of tobacco.
Oh, I wish you could know.
Tenderly I blow.
I want to let go,
let my habit lie fallow,
but I'd miss the flow.

This is precious cargo.