Surviving until Monday

First we're not here
Then we are
Then we're not
   Rick Fields in "For a Radiant star"

 

I believe Fridays I miss her most.

Week spun, done, wish her close,

glass of wine, lips on neck,

kiss on throat.

How was your day? Whisper, fine.

Sundown comes, glistens gold.

Headless weekend, drooped, alone.

                              Timothy Pilgrim