Poetry Feelings

forty-nine

we tiptoe through the night
like we don't disturb the sun,
for what would it have to say,
of our two heartbeats on the run?
only the sweet embrace of darkness,
can know our need to get away,
as it slips out of existence,
at the start of every day,
so we keep our voice to whispers,
lest we rouse it from its sleep,
as we share the kinds of secrets,
that the daylight makes us keep,
and there's something in the stars,
that has us hold onto our trust,
as though for just these midnight hours,
the whole word belongs to us,
but too soon the sun is setting,
and the east gives birth to light,
casing shadows in the friendship,
we created with the night,
until it's only fraying memories,
that are left keeping us warm,
and we're forced to face the fact,
that we cannot outrun the dawn.