Cloudy Sundays will always belong to you
Sleepy amber
You are the rain
Seeping through the windows
Dousing me in kerosene
Lighting the flame
Encroaching on my present happiness
Drove a thousand miles away
But asked again
To scratch your back
Retrace the touch
Permanently erased
Memory’s demise: “soon”
You mustn’t have known,
I cried too.