When I think of the rusted bed,
The cold night.
The snoozing soulmate.
The distant cooing.
And the bursting pops,
Five floors down.
I know
I knew
It was not insomnia that kept me awake.
It was not Mary Jane that stood me up.
It was to share the silence with you,
So that I can trip back
Whenever poesy strangled me.
Dec 2, 2018
Dec 2, 2018 at 12:36 AM UTC
When I think of the rusted bed,
The cold night.
The snoozing soulmate.
The distant cooing.
And the bursting pops,
Five floors down.
I know
I knew
It was not insomnia that kept me awake.
It was not Mary Jane that stood me up.
It was to share the silence with you,
So that I can trip back
Whenever poesy strangled me.
