3AM
In the fury of bedtime desolation
When for naught these dispassionate facades do fail to quell
The quiet distemper of the lonely night
And everything old is new again, even mistakes
Is this one of the nights when we die to feel alive?
The walls are silent, they listen
As the bedposts strain under the weight
Of gropes too awkward to mention
And syncopated groans
Rhythmic, pulsating in the darkness
Ripples like wrinkles on the bedsheet
Drenched blind with desire.
Our stares undress each other in the dark
And our naked souls, effulgent, rise like a newborn star
Plunging into the crisis of a pregnant universe
A mercurial Casanova
And spent, we breath heavily
In this vacuum.
We were supernovas that did not go gently into the good night
Exploding with pomp and splendor
In the fury of bedtime desolation
When for naught these dispassionate facades do fail to quell
The quiet distemper of the lonely night
And everything old is new again, even mistakes
Is this one of the nights when we die to feel alive?
The walls are silent, they listen
As the bedposts strain under the weight
Of gropes too awkward to mention
And syncopated groans
Rhythmic, pulsating in the darkness
Ripples like wrinkles on the bedsheet
Drenched blind with desire.
Our stares undress each other in the dark
And our naked souls, effulgent, rise like a newborn star
Plunging into the crisis of a pregnant universe
A mercurial Casanova
And spent, we breath heavily
In this vacuum.
We were supernovas that did not go gently into the good night
Exploding with pomp and splendor
Before bursting with the nonchalant finality
Of an autumn leaf
falling,
falling,
onto the ground
Of an autumn leaf
falling,
falling,
onto the ground
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