Call me,
Even if it's 3 a.m.,
And I am dead to the world.
Every fire pit eventually has to go out,
But even those cold ash embers
Are kept warm by the lively ones
That have yet to go out.

If you get lost
And the surrounding starts
To look unfamiliar,
Call me.
Even moths need sleep.
I promise you're not disturbing
Me.

We'll find another pit to hang around.
If you get lost and don't feel
That warmth around you.
Don't you go getting lost on me,
I'll be that lonely stubborn ember
That refuses to go out
One that keeps you warm
Until you feel safe,
And we both fall asleep
There isn't a dark too deep
That we can't explore
Even if it's 4 a.m.

I  am a ball falling into
A corner pocket.
Hit and sent flying.
The clatter of hopes and dreams
Knocked into each other.
I tumble into darkness
A world I've never known.
Unsure of where I am going.
But I roll.
Sent spinning across a velvet tongue.
I feel the rush.
Direct from the cue stick.
Pushed by the cue ball.
A crisp crack and I am sent flying.
Seamlessly waiting in line
Not knowing what number I am.
A shot aimed into netted lips.
As I tumble and swirl.
It turns out it's not so dark
In here after all.
Love is a game, and here I am.
Waiting to be placed back
Into the rack