Times

Sunday at nine:

Our eyes meet

and visions of your hand grasping mine

soon float to mine

You smile

acknowledging an understanding

Monday at nine:

Whispers hidden in the closet

while the children run about

Stolen smiles and twists of the body

from left to right

Peeking at privacy

Tuesday at ten:

The bench waits for us

in the hallway

Creating a bond unbeknown 

to us

But clear to the eyes of the world

Thursday at six:

We meet in the crowd

Only exchanging a few words

Darting to other groups

As to avoid the rumors

we only recently crushed

Saturday at five:

You cater to me

like a knight

Awaiting my father's approval

I give you a flash of my teeth

and you melt, easily

Sunday comes around again

and the evenings are always reserved

For the memories of the week

to float by my eyes

On their way to the furnace

to be burned and recycled

for the upcoming days.