April 24 : Luminous Insides

The clock ticks past
and hourglasses crack
it's that time of night again
I knew it would be back.

The moon sits quietly behind
the skyline of my personal
first floor horizon (antennas
and ugly buildings line it
for a straight 360 degrees).
The stars, shy, hide behind an
overwhelming blanket of
pollutants and the floating crashed hopes
of a monotonous, repetitive life in the city
(which is worse, I do believe).

Our house is warm,
Our nightsuits on.
The streetlights are stark
but the silk curtains drawn.
The lamps at strategic locations
light up our den with a dull yellow glow
(dreams aren't broken here, they're made,
every day is similar, in the happiest way).

I can see you sitting here
across from me, in
matching jammies and a beer.
We would talk about beautiful things
and I'd tell you about my day
(and my fears and insecurities
and regrets and guilt and)
we'd hold hands and arms and faces
and you'd make it all okay.

Your eyes shine bright
(but that's not the lamps,
its your luminous insides)
your smile is wide. (I wish
you were here, because the
night is too sacred to go on
without you and I'm not enough
I shall slink away from it and wait).

And why I don't write a poem about you
is that I'm afraid I could never do it right,
I could never do you justice.
Not you,
with the luminous insides
and fearlessness,
your matching jammies
and spontaniety.
You with the zest for life
as I could only hope for.

So I slink away from the night
till you return, and then bask
in your glow. The night might
accept me then.