I waited: the winter
was draped over my feet
my eyes were beginning to pickle -
the lamplight was oil
waiting was the flavor -
slowly... they softened

and then,
some time after midnight
I hear the clatter of stars
as you bring your stories in a basket
the sky spreads itself for you
and you speak so much
everything begins to yawn

I close my eyes to sourness
and feel the months fall around us
bouncing, not quietly,
not loudly, just
enough for company
and I cannot sleep while you speak
I... am waiting.