ballad for an insomniac

my clock hands have been twisted & shaped to fit your face
I am comfortably molded & awake
it's almost morning and in these hours when all these thoughts are mine
I have caught hold of your sleepless eyes, your restless spine

I will be miles away in the morning
this could be the morning

my toenails are tapping the bedframe in a jittered second hand - they spell
out mississippi
I am watching our slow night stage in my bedsheet stitching
I am not used to a caffeinated bed or this splintered dance
but the seashell in your hair, the webs laid in your arms, they gave me a
spellbound chance

I will be miles away in the morning
this could be the morning

I saw myself in oils, on canvas & I caught your dry compulsion
now the night streams by the foot of my bed, I swear it sounds just like the ocean
someone told me that art happens at night
I have been sleeping for most of my life

I will be miles away in the morning
this could be the morning

this may be the most awake I've ever felt in this timezone
I've stolen your car that drives through the night, my hands at a new hour
still hipbones into bed springs, still without a partner
still shouting into hallways, my insanity, your odometer
crashing my feet in the dark makes it last a little longer
a little longer