Questions to my T

Fifty minutes a week

Tick tock tick tock

One pound a minute

The hourglass keeps track

It’s a special space

I was told

Here, your trust will not be betrayed

I’ve been sold

I can open the gates,

Let it flow

I can reveal my heart,

She will know

It’s so strange

I’m confused

What is she hiding?

She won’t say

What is she thinking?

She’ll reflect

How can it be genuine?

It’s her work

Fifty minutes a week

She will show

Empathy and caring

On demand

I know nothing of her

I’m afraid

It is rigidly improper

To enquire

There are some rules

I’m aware

We can’t be friends

It’s codified

How can it be real?

It’s mercantile

One pound a minute

The hourglass keeps track