Trivia night,
       second place with seventy-eight points—
       not bad,
       though I was more tuned to you
       than the answers.

Finished a ball game together,
         talked until three a.m. at Sylvan,
                               some kisses,
                              some cuddles,
                      mostly conversations
      that stretched deeper than the hours.

Thursday slammed me flat—
         NFL day roaring,
            Owls in town,
   twenty million clicks
        across the wires.

But the *second* I could,
            I ducked out,
          back to Irby’s,
             back to you.

We shared a few,
   then wandered again to Sylvan.

Snuggles again,
         soft kisses,
     quiet exchanges—
   no sheets tangled,
 no fireworks needed,

 but nothing at all disappointing.

And now—
    maybe a Fish Mart Friday,
               maybe nothing,
            maybe everything—
       unpredictable as ever.

Still,
      I’ll take whatever’s given—
           record volumes by day,
          quiet moments by night,
            each second with you
   the only measure that matters.