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.

confusionhusbandlost lovelovenarrative

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