• Poetry

    After Hours

    My pillows smell Partly of weedMostly of youI want to hit you up and say “I miss you”But she might see itAnd we both knowOur love wasn’t made for the lights You’re hundreds of miles awayIt hurtsBecause I’m aloneWearing nothing but smokeAndMy favourite black lace thongAll that is missing is you I wish I could call you at 12pmBut those secret nightsAre all we haveI wish I could openly sayI love youAnd not just whisper it in undertonesWhen our bodies dance to that familiar rhythm I wonderIf you also kiss herwith your eyes closedIf she knowsAll the thingsThat make you tickThe dreamsThat keep you up at nightDiscussing themWith meI wonder…