星期五
時間終於鬆手，
鍵盤靜落嚟，
燈光開始識呼吸。

衫未換，
心已經解扣。
笑聲有少少酒味，
步伐慢落嚟，
但意思好清楚。

責任排隊走開，
我唔追，
今晚唔證明任何嘢。

夜色貼近皮膚，
熱，但唔急，
等——
係一種技藝。

星期五，
我唔逃走，
我被准許。

Friday—
time finally loosens its grip.
Keyboards go quiet.
Light relearns how to breathe.

Clothes still on,
but the mind already unbuttoned.
Laughter tastes faintly of drink,
steps slow,
intent precise.

Duties queue to leave.
I don’t chase them.
Tonight proves nothing.

Night leans into the skin—
warm, unhurried,
waiting
as a practiced art.

Friday:
I don’t escape.
I am released.