My Unstable Poetry

ten past midnight

his soft, clammy hands reach
out to you
"oh look", he said, "it's ten past midnight"
                "I guess it is", my sorrow face melted as I looked down at my leather watch
He reaches for my cheek, and brushes his hand against my face
My sorrow is your sorrow. Why can't ten past midnight leave like him?
"10 past midnight is such a sad time, do you think we can stay longer?"
We can only stay longer in our heads, ten past midnight is calling you in the deepest of ways.
He was right.
ten past midnight followed us home, growing like a garden around our ankles, wanting to make us stop
yet we kept moving,
And 10 past midnight came and left