nocturmnia

untitled by buradori


day, i have nothing to add to you.

here we are though. picking our teeth with stars and waiting it out.

my hands float,

weightless in the dark.


eventually the sound and the blue will creep back in,
we'll pick up where we left off

and stumble along.

night: large as an iceberg,
veined in shadow and
black's incessant typography

you always stop to chat as you pass me;
you're patient as geology,

what choice do i have
but to watch your petals
open, yawn and fall

eye-lid kisses
unheld hands
dreams i missed out on having

for having sat with you
and chewed the fat off our 4pm coffee
and re-lived the lunchroom chatter,

this time with the lights off.

a brutal punch at the intersection of night and summer,


when tomorrow lands bare-legged and hungry
it'll hurt from toe-nail to nose-hair.

under the bed they'll find me clutching
the frontier of shadow as my blanket,
and mumbling prayers to daisies