Sunday Mournings
Location
Lazily waking up to the dreamy scent of coffee
And vanilla perfume left on your “pillow”--
The left sleeve of my shirt
I’d hold you close
Until you sat on my lap
And playfully nipped at the lobes of your ear
Eventually you’d crack a summer smile
That’d warm the winters inside my bones.
My bones still melt at the thought of your warm, curved lips
And they don’t feel much heat anymore.
You sat on top of the oak table
Where we never eat
And we’d talk about blissful nothings
Until our guts spill over with laughter
Mixing with beaming sunlight
Shining out of your summer smile
And would brighten the the dark crevices
Of my brain.
It still releases plentiful amounts of dopamine
At the thought of your flickering, dim chuckles
And causes a surreal, euphoric high
When thinking of your strong rays of pure happiness.
I don’t feel high much anymore.
We’d change into cleaner pajamas
Which is just oversized tee’s and undies
After we’ve taken a steaming shower
But before we’ve tucked ourselves in
In our too small of a bed
Causing us to share our personal space,
Our personal life stories,
Our bodily heat.
And you’d rest my left arm
Which causes both sunshine and summer to come
That caused my heart to melt
It still bubbles when thinking of you
I haven’t recovered much from that.
I was left with your soft hair
On my left arm
I was left kissing your damp forehead
I was left with your head on my chest
Despite how your feet were peaking out at the bottom
I was left alone
In the middle of the night.
I am left with this bed made for one,
Which oddly feels empty when only with one
I am left without the scent of your vanilla perfume
On the sleeves of my tee
I am left without the smell of coffee in the morning
Without the sweet, rotten stench of your morning breath
I am left with the deadening sounds of nothing
That I can’t laugh at
I was left alone
In the middle of the night
I was left kissing your damp forehead
Whispering until next Sunday morning--
Whispering for a day that’ll never come.