Sunday, August 7, 2011


in the afternoon,
he's staring at his room.
clouds getting fuller and darker,
so puffy they can hardly move.

why cant this sunday be
when he comes to see me?

of all the corners in that maze of a garden
he picked the worst one,
cos his ma can see him, down from her window
she feels that he's longing inside
she knows it, without knowing why

why cant this sunday be
when he says it to me?
when will he whisper sweet and low?
when will say it?

i do, so help me god, i do,
you know, mikey, i do