it's sunday, and the sun is scintillating
over your head like a thousand yellow rubies
as you smile and tilt your shining face
to the sky. oh, he loves you, does he?
these dewey blades of grass are thicker
than the newborn string that binds
your hearts together.
you have no fear, do you?
no fear that he'll cause tears to marr your
pretty little face
or carpetburn to leave raw your
pretty little heart,
and you must call him back immediately
because you are so in love with him.
it's sunday, love, and you're a pretty fool.
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