Seventeen Sundays, my months of hell,
Reaching out, you're no longer there,
I open the bottle of good Jack and Daniel's,
Wanting to forget that you're no longer mine,
But your name's on the label of my favorite wine.
Seventeen Sundays, my months of pain,
Endlessly hoping, but you never came,
Turned on the radio to play a good song,
Wanting to forget and drown out this pain,
But your voice is still singing in the falling rain.
Of sweet Valentines', of chocolates, of lime,
Of me in the red dress, as we stay way past nine,
Of dancing and dining while the moon rises high,
Of drowning in kisses and all the sweet time,
When my name's on the label of your favorite wine.
Of letters, of phone calls that took all our time,
Late nights into morning but we never mind,
Of the piano serenades you played every night,
The music we danced to after dimming the lights,
Back when love's perfect and everything's right.
Seventeen Sundays, the sun shining bright,
Sun shining bright with cruel, cold light,
Your eyes in my mind just look like that time,
You smiled as we kissed, the very first time,
When your kiss was the taste of my favorite wine.
Seventeen Sundays, the moon starts to rise,
I put down this pen and turn off the light,
Drying tears with the shirt which you left behind,
I fall into slumber and dream of the time,
When my name's on the label of your favorite wine.
YOU ARE READING
The Story We Wrote
PoetryCollege was the time when she fell in love, with someone she thought could never love her back. Little did she know... Act I: Just Like That, Everything Begins Scene 1: Last Night's Dream Scene 2: Amorte Scene 3: Unrea...
