Poem-A-Day: Day 523

Sunday Girl

Blinded, I turn to the wall
in a rhythm wrapped in laughter
and drinking little bombshell eyes.
You're no longer the night
that glitters lights around the mess.
You're a rollercoaster night,
the most of Sunday pushing
like a bitch,
driving fever pitch when you shine.

I'm blinded by the night
that glitters lights around the mess.
I will see a bombshell
making somebody number one.
The night and all around the city,
don't you mess up
rushing like a night on the town.
Make the most of Sunday morning.
Dance.