if you're lucky
your Sunday love
might float beside you
she might take her coffee
as they do in Barranquilla
or off Wyckoff
your Sunday love
may weep at celluloid tapestries
of struggles you both bear in your skin
or she may be inclined
to hear more about past years
you've kept in a shoebox with old rap tapes
see, your Sunday love
needs to cut a blazing arrow across the sky
so you can find fire in the color of blue
so that when you take her hand
of simmered nutmeg and agave syrup
you can show her with your eyes
how much she makes the other days not matter
once she smiles
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