footsteps weary upon the floor
hardwood boards creak like a hoarse throat
nocturnal, sunless, a habit I can't let go,
since my early youth, I crawl through the darkness,
dreams in the night's atmosphere I harness
hushed to a whisper, I am synced with the whiskers
etching notes, doodles and ideas afloat
they come to life most potently in these quiet hours
here I gain my power, under stars, solitude devoured
till sunrise cracks,
and all I can do is pull the curtains back
laughing at these eyes, so black
and not the iris.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: only a member of this blog may post a comment.