torokszofi

Yours was Wednesday

Will
it be breeze?
Sudden, violent
gusts across
the bay?

Lungs
breathless for a moment,
brows frowning lightly
at the narrow
sky.

Or
a Tuesday, not long
after noon, snow
porridge boiling under
weary prints?

Yours
was Wednesday.
Exceptionally cold,
lean, off-season
shudders.

Red
warmth embraced
your sleep, arrived
as a friend, not long
before noon.

I
checked my mails,
rubbing my temples
called the dentist, and
you left.

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