Stare, at the blinking line
a steady gaze
Contours of your face, glowing with sickly light
Time is impatient with us
Half-past one, and finally
the steady pounding
but the sleepy curtains are shutting
The glaring numbers tick endlessly
The body, with only the spirits for company,
Has finally known restlessness
Has finally known profoundness
Until the light of morning peeks
Whether the night was well spent
Whether the night was, well, spent
Your final word is saved.
And after our intimacy with words
shall memory hold them close?
Vague thoughts put down in text
passionately, at a minimum.
To thrive or to strive
for nightly contentment
or lasting contemplation.