creative writing

Morning Whiles

It’s irrelevant when you do what you do.
I’m awake in the next room
writing, believing
all you are is who I want.

Words crashing in twilight,
in this calculating cold I continue to write,
the sirens in the quiet streets below your window
jarring my thoughts, irrelevant.

I will come as you go, and go as you leave.
Brushing against you going past
my mind is racing incomprehensible speeds
to figure out half your thoughts
                                      all your recklessness.

The lights flicker
a wonder the moon has not set.

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