At the corner
Of your lips I turn around
And around tracing back
Over the ground we’ve already covered.

You hold your mouth, pursed tightly,
Close to your chest looking down
At the green shag carpet beneath us.
My feet have not moved since the moment
I stood up from the couch I slept on the night before,
just meters from an empty bed.

I could not stand the night alone.

It was 215 when my eyes finally won out
Over my fingers, covered in ink
From the type writer and pen I left on the floor.
By three my hung head limply above the green envelope;
crisp covering for the jagged truth
I’d tell you in the morning:

My dreams are of a home I’d share with cats
in need of attention and feet rubbed raw
from ill-fitting shoes. Would you were to know.
I cannot stand the night alone.

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