i hate laundry

last time, this hour was
the quickest of my life
as i watched his hands,
his beautiful hands,
and hoped that they would touch me.

they didn't.

long as i licked my lips continually
and stared at his, and
hoped that they would kiss me.

they didn't.

and his heart didn't love,
and his voice didn't sing,
and he didn't use those last 30 minutes
to turn into the prince that
i'd hoped he'd be,
back in the early stages when he didn't have
the chance.

that hour was not this hour.
that hour was disappearing digits and
willing time, quickly, slower,
and wishing that it was not 40 minutes left,
but longer. only longer.

in my wishful thinking,
it was only me
and that dumb, stupid 60 minutes
that contained absolutely nothing
and confirmed absolutely everything.

and this time i'm back alone. alone, waiting on
no words, no kiss, no traits to admire;
just a dumb, stupid, HOURS LONG dryer.

i hate laundry.