2 am

i get up with a compulsion,
sit at the desk and stall,
happy with the thought;
the kindling is so much better
than the wrestling that follows.

i make coffee, walk the hall
observe the blacked out street
and look at the moon
then focus, and focus
i look in the mirror and say
– i don't believe you
you, you're nothing but the books you've read,
the result of too much time
and easy living,
hot breaths of urges unfulfilled,
stop wasting time, go back to bed,
whilst she's still there,

warm and waiting for you.
god knows,
it won't be that way forever.