the lonely cricket (no chorus there, just one annoying solo)
trophy of the night, plastered over my window,
was scraping its body off the glass.
yellow roundness bulged at the edge of the earth,
ready to break umbilicus, bud off,
surf the blue waters.
silent and feeble shadows of the night
were retreating into the dark corners of my room
crawling under the bed, last sanctuary,
rest in the coffin.
the morning, shifting sands within a sliver of time,
was invading my blood grain by grain,
dissolving into iron saltiness.
extra kick trough my heart
dip and swell trough my vocal cord.
words roll on the tip of my tongue.
“good morning!”
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