Night.
I always write at night.
Find me the happy medium,
between intoxicated and sober,
that straight on the razors edge,
the comfortable exhilarating feeling I have when I am with you,
all alone at night,
under the millions of stars in the vast lonely sky.
With you, my soul,
I battle the urge to dance,
and to sleep
to feel,
and to empty them into the white blank page
filled with letters 26,
only 26
with billions of opportunities.
White at night I see you.
Black in the sky and bright white light with the
small,
black,
line,
blinking.