Sunday is closing now,
the light comes crashing
down
we sulk and mope with
clenched fists
mumbling to our fastened
shadows
about what lies in the
hours ahead
there are a few (couples
only I believe)
still caught in this quiet
romance,
the last of their intimacies
before the alarm
there's nothing quite like a
Sunday quiet
I'm resolved to just admire
its ancient decay
(Image from mirrorsinner.tumblr.com)
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