It is a sultry and passive Sunday

Full of unearned slumber

Lazing around

Lovesick and half-drunk

–

A day of soaring melodies

In the high noon haze

Ever-thankful and filled

With our forebear’s psalms

–

 I reside in the swell

Of many twilights past

Her hand in mine

Our kiss

Beneath the neon stars rising

–

In these slow and timid hours

Busy wasting away

Those years quiet the sorrow

Born in sin and sulfur