In the heart of the evening,
Alone but for the passive hum of the fridge,
Waiting for the creeping force of fatigue
To press down upon my eyes.

He comes each night to interrupt,
To steal away my hours that march on unwavered,
And pass by without interest
In a solitary sleeping girl.

And from Him, She takes my limp body,
To sweeten the inescapable emptiness,
With promises, tales and memories
Crafted from my own