Poem 12


Every Sunday

Let’s you and me forget the lines drawn by knowledge and common sense.

That every Sunday, as we lock eyes across the street and stare to no end, we throw away our doubts.

Tell me that I’m not alone in wondering what we could be.

And I will tell you, I don’t care what others have whispered in my ears about you.

In front of a sacred home, I’ve decided to sin.

Society has given us rules to abide.

But there are still those stolen glances across the balcony.

There’s no mistaking your wandering eyes as they search for me amongst the crowd.

Everyone knows that I’m looking for you.

But neither can dispose of wired thoughts and believes.

So that every Sunday, as I see you enter, as you watch my back, we keep our doubts.

I would try.

You tell me that I can’t.

And I know exactly that we could never.

That there is no we.

No us.

Just you and me, separately.

Yet every Sunday, the cycle begins again.

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