Sunday Mournings

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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.

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