M.H., A Petrarchen Sonnet

Paper and pen, wielded as weapons.
A torn notebook, a sparkle in her eye.
Glancing around the room, she sighs.
Of her charm, I am endlessly fond.
We talk about life until the sun has gone.
I toss out the half-eaten food I bought.
Instead, lean in, to hear her spoken thoughts.
Just a quiet piece of her to get me by
An exchange of goods, a CD, a book, secrets.
I lean back as we discuss character and plot.
I hold this moment in my own palm, savoring it.
We speak in a code, in song lyrics and cheap shots.
At last we depart, I am satisfied for now.
She bids me farewell with a quirk of her brow.