Tuesdays

I find you
at the wall of windows
in the sun-drenched bar—

On two stools, we sit
together, knees entangled,
palms locked—
heat trapped between,
sealing these moments
like wax over a love letter.

I behold you
the way gilded light drips
into quartz crystal­—
slow, trembling­—
a radiant prism.

Our words mingle
until sunlight shimmers
into early dusk.
Hours stolen clean.
The table cools,
where the rays
danced across the wood.

Your hand: a private island
welcoming my cheek.
Your mouth: soft linen.
A cool front drifts in
carrying that familiar,
lingering ache.

Not a farewell;
only a promise—

See you again next Tuesday.

Sarah Espe (2025)