hopeless romantics…

short love poem

here.
take the end of this sunday night.
i’ve been keeping it for a while,
saving it for the right time.
so desperate to give you something;
something mostly perfect
(or as close as i can get
on this rainy night.)

i got this night, and
hope more than anything
for five minutes of you
looking my way; maybe even
thinking ’bout me. anything else
is more than i can ask for; more
than i can beg for.

anything else ain’t that look
you give me right before
you melt my heart & knock
me down. more than i deserve.
more than i can
beg for.
still i beg for your eyes.

———————————————-

I used to sit around Sunday nights, eat a really good dinner and watch my woman move around in the fading dusk. If the temperature was right, I can remember sitting outside smoking cigarettes and just talking about this and that. When I lost my Sunday nights, part of me just didn’t know how to deal with it. Ever since then, I spend my Sunday nights watching the outline of my heart beating in the dark shadows. All I see are my shaking hands and all those questions. Guess that’s how life works. Still, I cannot get that image out of my head, and it makes me sad. Luckily it only comes once a week, for a few hours at a time. Must be my fucked up head. Nothing new there.

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2 Responses to “hopeless romantics…”

  1. amazing. I dont know how to appropriately compliment the things that are conjured up in this poem. you rawk

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