Sunday Night, to Its Edge

Poetry

Sunday Night, to Its Edge

For our world that doesn’t end.

Photo by author

When I said, “I held my breath just to let you win,” You said, “I knew you’d bend the moment the brim went back.”

That’s not just a Sunday night, that’s a quiet craving too.

You capture me from outside the car window, I count your steps to open my door.

You touch my curve, I run my fingers through your hair.

You like the noise, I like the way you shut me up.

The world pushes us to its edge, but we know our world doesn’t end.

©️Dita Indradi 2026 • All rights reserved.

Submit your poem to **Picture Poetry.**

[embed]Picture Poetry A publication dedicated to the picture-poetry formatmedium.com