This is the hour a poem attempts to make sense of itself
The hour when I conceive what’s to be birthed in the daylight
This is the hour sacred enough to strip naked
The stillness keeps my body raunchy and honest
Slumber is a lover at arms length with his back turned
I’m indifferent for it’s the darkness I want to make love to.
To moan at the caresses of everything unseen
And arc my back in submission to the moonlight
This is where I consummate my marriage to lonely.
Here, in this midnight hour
Hair pillow-patted at the back
Staring at the ceiling perceiving beyond everything it’s concealing
I become susceptible to every possibility
I’m not sure where I tripped
But this is where I fall
in love
with all.

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