I’m in love. I’m looking
at myself through the spots on
the glass. The streaks of emptiness
have passed. The silhouette is

sliding toward the door. He flicks
the switch before he steps on the
boards. I anticipate the light that cuts
through the darkness in the room. The only

thing to separates us is the piece of
wood. It’s the ritual of Tuesday afternoons
that makes me want to say, “just wait.”
It’s knowing that in this moment I’ll feel

great. It replaces the dullness of Wednesday
for sure. It takes the sadness of Thursday
away. It drills a hole in the anguished Fridays. It
leaves the rageful Saturdays burned. And panicked

Sundays are long ago returned. The dreams of
Monday are still turning on the spit. Which brings
me to Tuesday afternoon. It’s worth the long
and arduous trip.