Two thirty—
    Coal’s paws click across Irby’s floorboards,
    not quite sure why he’s here again,
    tail half-wag, half-wary,

    glad to receive some liver treats,
    not glad to be stuck with a spare.

He finds his spot next to me,
   sighs loud enough to register on seismographs,
   glaring at the water bowl like it insulted his lineage,
   bathing in some late afternoon sun,

   then cooling off in the puddle he personally designated as essential.

I drink.
I type.
He judges.
Treats are dispensed.

Five o’clock—
     You appear just in time,
     like you knew the moment the Sun would hit just right.

Coal abandons me instantly, tail at full wag. (I don’t blame him)
     You kneel down, and he’s all over you,

     like you’re the only person in the world.

There’s a magnetism in your walk
        pulling Coal’s attention,
        pulling me closer,

        stealing a moment neither of us could spare.

Purpose in your eyes,
        softened at the edges,

        like you’ve already forgiven the day.

The Kiss—
    not soft,
    not hesitant,
    Just... *there*,
            perfect,
           precious,
          impactful,

    a punctuation mark I’ll carry through the rest of the night. (and beyond)

It lingers.

In my mouth,
   my spine,
      glass,

   in the very air between us.

Six—
    Back in my own barstool.
    The usual chaos humming along:
    Griff pacing,
    Mel resetting chairs that don’t need resetting,
    Jake’s tennis talk barely holding my attention—

    it’s all white noise now, comfort with the volume turned low.

Everything feels like it’s happening underwater—
                                       familiar,
                           blurred at the edges,
                     louder than it needs to be,
                          not quite loud enough.

             The bar: full.
The stool next to me: empty.

Airport—
       delay stacked on delay,
              screens flicker,
                   clocks lie.

Patience thin as ice on a summer patio,
         my bag eating the seat next to me,
         I munch trail mix I don’t recall packing…

         losing track of hours, my phone oddly dingless.

Someone two rows over plays TikToks on full volume,
        me over here tasting my molars as they grind.

Finally a *ding* hits,
        but not the one I’m waiting for.
        Just a stupid upgrade to 4A. (who cares?)

Your text lands, (*whew*)
Then another.
Then one more.

Ten thirty—

Wheels finally lift.

City lights melting away below,
     Atlanta slipping away like condensation on a pint glass.

Your “missing you” floating softly through the dark cabin,
     the night flight suddenly warmer, each mile gentler.

Back at Oscar’s now,
     unpacking the memories,
     coffee steaming, laptop glowing,
     echoes of yesterday still humming,

     fingertips brushing absentmindedly over a moment…

Two thirty to ten thirty,
    a day measured not in hours,
    but in heartbeats,
           paws on pavement,
           gleam in your eyes,

           and a kiss I can still feel behind my teeth.