In the morning we find our manners
And get out on the road
With little more than a cup of coffee
We truly can not afford to behold a bunch
Of flowers, nor to read these sordid letters
Until after lunch, when our itineraries are done
You come pry my eyes open with your fingers
And lift the curtains of my heart, in the evening
The stars are shining in wakeful tyranny
Defying everything I’ve wanted to become