XLVIII.

and the midnight sun is gray.
white sheets in an arctic apartment
but i'd rather take the night mist and sand

an espresso makes me wish for something that could cut through.
i get no hint of a beating heart.
so i drift along the yawning streets

with your voice, they would come to life.

i see you now
through the dusk stripes of a window
i hope you sleep tonight.

i'll slip into dreams
to find myself under the same dawn
brilliant, aching wide
i'm the reach of the tide
and i'll hide back here to join you
silent fighter
wish you'd open your eyes
or i could find a way behind yours.