Snarled In A Scribble...

'I won't be long. Time me!' -
She had flipped the hourglass;
Grains in an eternal spree,
The tryst's not yet come to pass.

Must've had the sands on lease,
More than the stars they're under,
More than the leaves on trees;
No, she's surely guilty of plunder.

But, it bothers me, her delay,
No call, no mail, no ping;
What if she has lost her way?
Or, was it too soon for the ring?

Nah, she's mostly snarled in a scribble,
Beading her lines of our verse,  
Catching words as they dribble
And dreams that dawn and disperse.