I don’t know how to talk to you, and although I’d like to.
texting at this hour might not help that effort,
but, I’ve got midnight in my blood and its the only time
I feel like being honest. The moon must hold some magic
over me. I should be in bed
rather than emptying the bottles of my emotions.
But that’s tomorrows problems. For now,
I’ll stand still under Mercury,
counting stars that don’t appear
above my empty city, say a little prayer
and ask Hermes for deliverance
I’ll ask: is it better with your father yet?
Have you had vegetables today?
When was the last time you read your palm
and saw a future instead of long and
useless lines? Are we still friends?
Do you even care? Who warms your bed and stokes
your hair? Do I sound jealous? Should I not be?
Why does it feel like I’m questioning air?
Did you know that I will always love you,
and that your name carries a weight
my heart can never ever shed?