He had a way of looking at the clock
when he arrived,

while undressing. She never
looked at the clock,

knew he’d leave
after an hour or two

and his fetish
was a way of letting her understand

he’d be home
as usual, for dinner.

Still, this was safe,
they could go on for years —

wait, phone-call, visit.
Not enough, but it was something.

How little, she realised one day
when he sent her flowers,

remembering her birthday
and she cried.