My 3am focus
has always been the same,
each time I curl up in bed
to write the words again
hoping the tiny light is dim enough.
This hour sits and devours My attention,
it’s always been My handsome hour
when I can write about pretty things.
Far from love-struck eyes,
I can clearly see the girl who’s super devoted still
even after all this time in years
devotion is certainly a thorn of hers.
She can’t help it if,
she wants her own kissing hour to start up again.
I’d volunteer if it meant
I could keep my eyes open because
I’ve never been this close to love before,
the eyes are closed shut and the mind
goes somewhere else.
I want you,
to stay on the edge
with this love-drunk fool.
Still, I could promise from here and back
I’d have your nights full of heavy plans.
We could act out along with our playlists
pretending we were the actual words
in all the rough and sexual lyrics.
Of course we’d skip over any songs
we have somehow repeated.
There’s just one request though,
we need to play in the cold crisp hours,
the dangerous hours where we’re warned
we should stay inside.
There’s something exciting about
that bitter ice cold grip,
then jumping back inside
like it’s life or death
trying to get the other hot again.
Take advantage if you must,
the tortured truth is
I’d be just as happy
if we spent Winters 100 nights
staring out a window
waiting on our summer days to return.