It's Thursday night. Your night.
I always see you tonight
We never talk
We move past one another in deaf motions
I pretend and you pretend that the other is only pretend
These encounters do not exist
No one knows of our secret rendezvous
You stare at the air
And I stare at your hair
Turn around and see me
You left your song inside me
Even beyond Thursday...
Into Friday... Saturday...
Here I am
Waiting...
On Sunday
Waiting on Sunday
She's catchy
Like a smart kid or
a fresh dandelion
the monkey bars
a premonition
a letter from overseas or
a walk in the woods
She's refreshing
like mountain springs
airplane rides
late night beach walks
and camp fire stories
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