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.