i.
nothing could be said
with people sitting there at the table...
words would have tumbled out of me

like puppies pushing open the gate,
rolling over each other,
jumping from one thing to the next

all wiggly with nonsense and joy.
but my words had to sit and stay like big dogs.

 ii.
when our eyes caught and held
it's a wonder others didn't notice
the two hotties at the table  
in a holy moment 
over forks and napkins and chicken and asparagus,

...naked to our souls

right in front of them.

iii.
time moves alongside. but we don't feel it.
it's the oddest thing.

is this how it will be to grow old with you?
moments in tablespoons,
years by the gallon?
until we're gone?
you over there, me over here?

iv.
now and again i wonder
if talking takes up too much space. 

thinking and talking get me in trouble anyway.
but how can i sacrifice the words of my heart
on wednesdays...
can there ever be such a thing
as too much love spoken
one day a week?

but if i did it--

held it all back in a burden of silent trust, 

without unpacking my feelings in nouns and verbs--
would it be sacrament enough in this life

to earn my wings to the next level?

v.
hell is weeks into years of getting by, making do,
busying up days, tossing alone nights...

but for wednesdays,
and the music of my own heart,

heaven would be too far.