A bit of our time

We complain for the trains

and the time spent, for the late

phone calls after work or a plane,

the Sunday rings,

the December runs,

and the too-much food –

I have been on a diet, always –

and forget for a while

the day the disruptions will end

with the night talks and the laughs

and the warmth spreading in our chests like

after a glass of champagne and a good bottle of red wine,

and holes will be left where the bonds are tied,

when silence will find us

amid our clean bed sheets

and yearly-organized bookshelves –

we will have time then.

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