Oh, sweet Sunday sunset, love of mine,
A gentle whisper in the twilight's chime.
Your amber hues kiss the day goodbye,
As we bid adieu with a contented sigh.
You are the pause before the week's new song,
The quiet moment when shadows grow long.
A soft surrender to the night's embrace,
As Monday's promise begins its chase.
No more the echo of familial laughter,
Now anticipations of what comes after.
The nights, the days that are wholly ours,
Unseen, untouched by the sun's final hours.
We yearn for the freedom that darkness brings,
Underneath the moon and its silver wings.
For when Sunday's sun dips low and bows,
Begins a tale that the silent night allows.
Gone are the elders' watchful eyes,
In the cloak of night, our secret lies.
A world that spins for us alone,
A love as wild as the wind has blown.
So here we stand at the edge of light,
Hand in hand, ready for the night.
With every Sunday sunset, my heart takes flight,
To the promise of days bathed in our own delight.
So, I love you, Sunday sunset, end of the week,
You're the prelude to the adventure we seek
With you, the mundane quietly recedes,
And in its place, our own story proceeds.
Heck’s Secret Poem
Behind the polished veneer of a banking heir and the creative world of an art agent, Heck lived a life few could imagine. Poetry was his hidden refuge, a world he kept entirely to himself—until Sara. On a quiet night at the café where they first met, he revealed this secret, sharing a deeply personal poem that would intertwine their fates. It was the first glimpse of the poet in him, a man longing to break free from the weight of expectation and live in the raw beauty of words.
Published
"Goodnight, Sara. / 'Night, Heck"
by Justine Castellon and Mike Dee.
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