Epicurus Garden

The little garden park, right at first light.
It’s cool, it’s quiet, they’re all still asleep.
I have a bottle of red wine for us to share.
I have all day to spend here with you.
 When are you going to come?
 The night becoming day, becoming a promise.
It’s been so long since I slept well, missing you.
The hours we’d fill with laughter and big plans
are quiet, and I’m buckling beneath their weight.
 When are you going to come?
 The angels on their pin, the demons stalking us,
the right and true path, for us, for our broken race,
the heavens that waited for the brave and faithful,
the passions we’d use to burn down every fucking star.
 When are you going to come?
 The day wears on. The wine is warm. The sun is harsh.
Some much noise. So many people. So much crowding me.
I’ll wait until the sun falls away, I’ll wait until midnight.
I can’t face these things alone. I can’t be alone in this town.
 When are you going to come?
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