They are placeholder men.
I wait for you.
You’re just an hour away—
why don’t we cross paths?

They are placeholder men.
You own my mind,
my yesterdays,
my tomorrows—
and my now
is you.

They are placeholder men.
I don’t want to hurt them,
but my bones are cold,
my hair is grey,
my body greedy.

They are placeholder men.
When I close my eyes,
it’s your name that appears.

It’s too late now.

Let’s call it a night.