Night looks down on me (with speed)
Night looks down on me
while I write poems about the wrong balcony, try to store them in the wrong parts of my body quaking, trying to fend off the mint that you are not brewing for me inside as of course you wouldn’t or couldn’t, being inthe wrong side and all moon ignored is better than acknowledged now, mid-sentence, while I withdraw my fingers full of no point! no point! but my nails don’t hold anyone up at all and now look what I’ve written.
No wonder the night.