There is nothing tonight.
The magic of Christmas is not quite and
Santa has lost his ho ho ho
And you wish you still believed
But you are empty and so is he and
You wonder if the next year will
Ever become the next year
Or if it really is a white Christmas
And if the very next day you’ll give it away
You clutch your love
In a bottle to your breast
Cork in your left hand pocket
Careful not to spill a drop
Cry to end summer,
A curlew call.
Half truth and half tremor;
An evening cradled in doubt,
Bathed in sunlight.
Six times bigger and
Twice as bright, the moon shines her
Keep feelings bottled up tight yet
Writing flows fast as spilt ink rushes on stark white.
Fear the quill.
Hold your tounge.
Voice like hard honey
Soothing electric airways
Burnt tempers and concrete steps
Sing to me
Taste names rolled through tough teeth and tongue
Not stopping at my next destination but pushing
On and on and on and…