he can only love me on Sunday nights

Photo by Karl Edwards on Unsplash

he can only touch me on Sunday nights, under full moon nights, hidden in very dark nights, “what are you doing?” kinda nights, euphoric kinda nights, “how have you been?” kinda nights, “can we switch positions?” kinda nights, “I have to leave” kinda nights.

the sun rises and I reach out for him and most of the time I get silence, I reach out for him and sometimes I get “maybe”, I reach out for him and I always cry.

and the funny thing is that I will do anything for one more Sunday night, where he lips travel through my body kinda night, where his hands grab my hip kinda night, where I get to kiss him and surrender kinda night.