Ten O’ Clock On A Sunday Night

Ten o’ clock on a Sunday night
Too cool to have my window open
Too hot to have my window closed
Caught somewhere between
Slightly uncomfortable
And just plain miserable
As my thoughts drift away
To eyes and lips
Touch and taste
The way my heart responds
With multiple attacks
Each time that smile
Breaks the horizon of his soul.

Ten o’ clock on a Sunday night
Miles from home
Looking at strangers
Silent
Just as ready to get there as I am
Avoiding the eyes
Because that begets specific interest
Which I have none at the moment
Trust me
I get enough ‘look at me’ at work;
Fifteen past
The universal agitation
Of just missing the last train
We pace back and forth
Smells of urine
And the MTA’s lame attempt to cover it
Egging us on to insanity
The only escape
To let my thoughts drift again
Echo loudly
Like the opposite flow of traffic
That comes far more often
Because I don’t need to go there
Just here
To the moment again
After arms and soul held me
Sang me a lullaby of sweet longing
Leaving me at twenty-five past forever…
©2009clarencecbess