Friday

Always Friday has been my favorite day; not Saturday with its frantic pace, or Sunday with Monday's anticipation, but Friday with Saturday's full potential awaiting, like standing at the door of Westminister Abbey, not having any idea what will lie on the other side but feeling it will be grand. But when inside it is too much, too complicated with its high arching ceilings, too high to make out the fine details. When you were away, Wanting you was wonderful, imagining a chance meeting, a close warmth behind me and I would turn and smell your heat not touching but standing so close my nipples swell and stretch to you with longing. But then you came back and Watching you drink and watching you sleep, I knew there was something there I didn't understand like the fine details in the high arches of the cathedral and my Friday dreams were flattened in the dull thud of Saturday's lost potential.