Sunday Mornings Were Ours Then

Sunday Mornings Were Ours Then
by
endthedream

And the skies periwinkle blue.
The day like soft linen,
And love for him too.
Cradled in my arms.
Caught in dreams true.
There for sweet sanctions.
Poetry and gingham
And soft drift to the
Cloudy afternoons.
I’ve not liked Sunday since
Then.
For me though,
And for Joel too,
An apple for eating.
And dusty roads for walking.
And everything brand spanking
New.
I remember it all as tomorrow.
I remember his bravery,
Like a tender tremble of a candle
Flame in the Wind.
Against a sea of impossibilities
He stood,
And for a noble quest of time,
For a few years,
Two,
Too few,
He let me stand beside him too.
I remember Ray Bradbury’s dandelions.
And Brian Aldiss’ Horatio Stubbs.
Truman Capote’s Joel as well,
And a single man,
Song and new.
How sadness was beautiful then.
How love held its heart beat
In our hopes.
And Sunday was magical cows
And barking dog,
At his farm,
Burned down long ago.
I’ve sung my Sunday song so
Often,
That I think he will appear
Before me again.
And love with not be fleeting
Sundays,
Before I catch the night bus,
To work,
One more treadmill time.
I see his brown eyes questioning.
I hear Sunday in his hands.
As he writes his poetry and
Dedications.
As we fence off Dunsany Land.
And charwoman’s shadows
And “Forests of Forever”
Are received in deed
And in trust.
He bought me a book from a used
Book store,
By Robert Silverberg.
And gave it to me on a sunny
Sunday morning.
I did not cry till later.
I treasured his hands holding
Mine.
We took our clothes off,
And we made love,
Him suddenly taller than I.
The day was soft around him.
Its star
And one man band show.
I wish him well as the Sunday
Ends.
He waves as I see him in
My rear view mirror,
And a puzzle breaks in me
Forevermore.
So singly back there.
Go back.
Turn round.
Don’t leave.
Not this time.
But I think,
There is always next weekend.
And there was.
Until it
STOPPED FOR ALWAYS.
And it seems even now always
Time for school Monday to
Start again.
Joel was sun
And Sunday
Was for worship,
And we ran down the dusty
Roads to our dreams.
We clowned around on the train
Tracks,
And I held him secret in my
Heart.
As I took him in my mouth
And put hands to his chest.
A quorum not being called at
All.
And if anybody reading this
Has ever had experience with
Love,
The real and true kind,
Not for barter,
Or a quick shake of relief,
Then you read you and him here,
Not Joel and me,
And if he is still with you
Pray to him.
And tell him you love him.
That he is your darling.
And you will never forget
The glow of his hair in the sun
Light.
That he will be your map to
The world forever true.
For comes a day,
There will be a day
When you and your Joel
Are through.
And the “world is filled
With Rue.”
The fields of Sunday
I give to you.
The sunlight and moonbeams
However you please.
And if you remember your
Joel,
And feel sad and lucky as I,
Remembering mine.
Hold him tightly,
For he is light as air,
And the sky takes its angels
Home eventually.
I remember Joel distinctly.
His gentle grin.
His pale flesh.
His long fingers.
His Sunday kind of way
That makes Sunday what it
Was to never be again.
This poem is for you,
And your own love,
Present or past
He may be.
Sing I of Joel and Sunday
And please God, bring him
Some day
Home to me.
Words are my only
Incantations.
The only magic I know
How to perform.
Words in the air.
Time ticking by me.
Hear me now, Joel,
Please…
I am lonely and tired
Of failed chances
That never were chances
At all.
Just Joel to keep the light
In the dark world.
A sketch of farms and
Sparse countryside.
Of stores with shack
Roofs and raw unpainted wood boards.
And chamber music at
His house,
And we on his bed
Spread more and more.
To teach me of how to
Brocade Sundays.
Of the stitches where
They Go.
No need to tell me why.
Just Joel fabric of the day.
And the feeling of pure and
Happy sadness.
And the heart the way I feel
Today.
Thank you for reading this
Attempt at a poem.
It saddens my heart
More than I can say.
And if I look out my window
Right now on this sunny Saturday,
He will be there,
Standing on the air,
Not on the ground.
And smiling,
And I will go to him,
I will.
And close my eyes as he hugs me.
And Sunday will be my friend
Again.
And Sunday will be my friend
Again.
And it and he will make me glad
I was here.