It's Half past twelve.
Although your eyes are barely woke.
I've lost count of time being in the loft of your heart.
Lost in the city lights.
It's something about the streets here that make me feel brand new.
It's half past twelve in the real world.
But here,
In the loft of your heart.
I have the best view.
Being downtown transcends my favorite places in the real world.
Here, there aren't any scheduled buses, no large crowds of people.
It's stunningly beautiful.
Not being able to tell the difference between night and day.
Although your eyes are barely woke.
It's already tomorrow here
And everything reminds me of you
May 31, 2019
May 31, 2019 at 9:50 AM UTC
It's Half past twelve.
Although your eyes are barely woke.
I've lost count of time being in the loft of your heart.
Lost in the city lights.
It's something about the streets here that make me feel brand new.
It's half past twelve in the real world.
But here,
In the loft of your heart.
I have the best view.
Being downtown transcends my favorite places in the real world.
Here, there aren't any scheduled buses, no large crowds of people.
It's stunningly beautiful.
Not being able to tell the difference between night and day.
Although your eyes are barely woke.
It's already tomorrow here
And everything reminds me of you
Request permission to use this poem