two am, friday night
wide awake by the sterile light
i pen for a tale these final lines
there’s too much left, stuck inside
across our river, beyond the mist
i watch your shadows fleet
angel feathers through the gale
i hear those whispers cease
so i’ll raise a glass, well, make it two
to the story that told of me and you
A third, a forth, 'fore we hit the floors
‘fore again i hear that voice of yours
too young to regret
too old to forget
let's ponder, shall we, as we bet
for the simplest magnet, yes, it holds two ends
when dust descends, when thoughts depart
will you be there, cries my heart
a teardrop falls, upon your splendor
glimmer in marble, ever so tender
the haze drifts away, away with you
batteries out, screen’s brand new
i raise my gaze, 'till it meets a light
my halo, my blue light.
(an old poem i found in my draft box today. apparently i wrote it more than a year ago; it feels finished so i though i might as well publicize it)