I am here, where is thou?
Who, what is,
but a fragment of our best dreams.
The kind without interruption,
morning clocks,
cold by your feet,
where you'll see.
There is thou,
by the window side,
in a parking lot,
leaning on the neon sign of a sex shop.
With a careless smile, or weeping,
without a care in the world, or
with everything.
The details are changing by my mood,
but one is constant,
you're alone.
Like watching a mirror.
In the dark.
While forcing a smile up your lips.
Sometimes welcoming and cozy,
other times just polite and distant.
Because you don't want
what or who's in front of you
to get the wrong idea.
YOU ARE READING
It's three in the morning.
PoetryA small collection of poems which I write when I could not sleep. Or (mostly) of my personal experiences.
