Sunday

“Happiness, not in another place but in this place… not for another hour, but this hour” – Walt Whitman

She’ll take photos of you sleeping
Forget to brush her hair
She walks barefoot
In the rain
On Sundays
She stays in bed
She’ll disappear
For days
But
Leave
notes on my
Door

You’re
Captivated by her eyes
They tell stories you never read
Or finished or held
But you’re still looking
And she’s restless …
She always says
‘Theres a difference between attention
And affection’
But we
We want the ones we want –
Stick around to see
How often they change
We play a hard game

You’ll leave her at the alter
And feel relief walking
Out the door
By morning
She will be ok with that
This isn’t
The 90s anymore

So collect your hearts
Your cool
Is like silver on a coin
But bored will always
Catch you
It’s carried at your core
This is how you’re growing
Old

Empty chairs
Red lipstick
Black ties
Governments
Burning us
While we’re burning
Each other
This is us growing old

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