Saint or Sinner

It's Saturday morning
it snowed last night
several more hours
until daylight,
we're both in bed
miles from each other
miles from a chance
to re-discover,

Saturday morning
a perfect time
to write a cryptic
bedroom rhyme,
accomplished on
horizontal's plane
one of the acts
that keep us sane,

Something we do
now and then
me with women
you with men,
sometimes with love
sometimes emotion
sometimes with just
massage lotion,

Perhaps this Saturday
you're not alone
guess I could text you
on your phone,
"I'm thinking of you"
"what are you doing?"
guess I could add
who are you screwing,

You've dropped some names
of men you know
eluded to place
that you go,
jealousy isn't
my big suite
but I'm curious
what turns up your heat,

We plan to meet
in a couple of weeks
discuss the latest
NSA leaks,
drink some wine
have a nice dinner
play the game
of saint and sinner,

Then return
to our separate places
friends, lovers
familiar faces,
but I'll think of you
do you reciprocate
or am I just a place
a time and a date?