Midnight despairs

Right now,
When the clock is shy of three,
And the crickets buzz outside
The breeze chills your nose
And the window shouldn’t have been left open
To let in the November spirits
Only we two exist.

It is a world of whispers,
Everyone else is asleep
Or frozen
In space-time
There is just you, and me

But you’re asleep
Your feet peeking from the
Sleeping bag
Your hand clutching the pillow
The lower lip pushed into
A pout
You look barely seven
And I sit still
Afraid.

My books with their
Yellow pages
Green highlights and
Pink sharpie side notes
Stare back at me, the phone
Is a silent pool of defeat.

There is a sense of purpose
In the silence,
The half romantic language
In which you call out
Through notes
Black and white filtered Instagram pictures
Of classmates burning
The midnight lamp
Solidarity in a field of loneliness
We students of poetry
Wage a war against love
Attainable
While our muses sleep peacefully.

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