Ode to a Weekend

To start -  

a beer, a book and a little black heart.
A girls night out, followed by meeting a boy in the park.

On to hear a poem about holding hands,

I ache to reach out across the spans 

and let my fingers talk to his. 

Instead, I let right tips find my own left wrist.

Forget penance,
this is smiling at innocence.

What's next?
Fit a tight face in crowded place,

and laugh at my own damn pace.

Sigh deep when that song on repeat

finds its beat and lets you keep

thinking you're the breaker and not the broke

and that we can still hold on to hope.
This much is true upon finding that I couldn't be fonder
then to witness love at first sight
of a Daddy and his Daughter.
With a simple gesture, he has taught her
Nothing beats a good brunch date.
New York is full of those though, I suppose.

A deadline looms
and suddenly I am running the streets!
I leave behind the dead fumes

and come home to fresh, clean sheets.

Crawl into bed, 

and be damned if I don't dream of him instead.
To wake up with breath abated,
Oh how frustrated!
Not the way I thought this would end...
But those thoughts are not mine to mend.
And I will see you again, my dear weekend.