if the way
weekends **** me
are two days
in which i worry.
i can't imagine summer.
and even now
i don't see you at all really
not until afters school.
and even then,
time is limited.
i no longer get to
bring you an apple
at lunch,
place it on the table beside you
my arm brushing past yours
or perhaps my hand
squeezing your shoulder.
i guess in my dreams
i'll still be bringing you apples
in lunch period four.