It is half past one, and you are more restless than I, when this day had started, when you and I met.
The air that parts the window from the curtain, is colder than I guessed, and now I fear that I might freeze to death.
And so I move, towards the closest thing for warmth, and I find you, wrestling for sleep.
So, I kiss you, gently on your cheeks And itβs wet now, colder than the rest of you But there are other things to worry about Because the gentle peck on your cheek Wouldnβt even be there, when you wake up. A message, disappearing, before anyone reads it.
There is much else to be worried about Like, the coldness, in between you and me and beneath all of us.