Sunday is church day
said childhood, Mum and Mr. Jesus

I agree
said university days, a late night and a hangover
Sunday is a day of rest,
and there are many ways to keep the faith,  

like staying in bed.

It's 3 am when you wake me
with cold hands in the shape of chords,
breathing stories and whiskey
spilled on the p.a by a guy
asking for songs.

In between saturday and sunday
you tell me about the  bikes
in town for the rally,
lining the streets in rows of inert thunder
while their people drank
and moved to the music you made.

It's 4 am
before morning finds the bluff
to light up the world's earliest hours
good morning you say
before we fall asleep,
laughing at your own joke.

We could have buckled to the sin;
two or three times before
the cost

came due.

The love of my life
The life of my love
Precious beyond compare
Pastel colors are we
That cross each other and run together
That rub against each other
Running towards a common destination
That mountain we climb
On a road that winds
Breathtaking curves lie ahead
And through it all we remain steadfast
By our promises we are led

Catching the wind
through my fingertips
trying to snag a taste
of open aired freedom
since it rings and rings
passing through my ears
like a singing bliss.

I'm a dog
choking at the end
of my leash
A bird
trying to squeeze
through the bars in my cage
and be free
I can't argue
Can't speak
Can't write
For the life of me

I cannot drive
a stick
but I can drive
a nail
into the heart of
a poem.