The lights
come off
a shower-glass from
the ceiling, undress
your costume flesh.
I toss my skin-laundry
in your sleep-figure direction,
and you catch it
guts and all, you catch it
every time when
I’ve always dropped the ball.
In the dark
with our clothes on
is the most naked
we’ve ever been, yet
you’ve never believed
in monsters, have you?
The mirror of me
we lose sleep about.
Tell me 2 AM
doesn’t smell like
regret, tell me
the dawning isn’t something
you don’t wanna
wake up to.
When the lights come back
you know, my mouth will
stop spitting lies. Again
but whether I am dripping
saliva over tempers, or
begging apologies of a new
day - I am unsure.
I am unsure which version
of me I am,
anymore.
— 2 AM AND LIGHTS
OFF
