by Tim Young
Yes the night is moving in earlier now.
The clouds don't mind, they never pay attention.
Meanwhile stars continue to surprise,
Pin points stuck sharply in the black velvet.
My nose is cold.
I'm going to go home and
Heat up the coffee.
I'll pick up sticks along the way
So the fire I make will be bright.
The breeze twists, turns and is confused
By my movements.
My matches are burning a hole
In my pocket.
I hide them from the wind.
Before I step inside
One star moves close to me
And whispers a secret in my ear.
We both laugh.
I spill the coffee
And kiss the night.