The Remnant Hours

Rising, late in the day, the hours so strange

these days, it’s time to take off the coat of sleep

and make myself presentable to the night.

I reach and turn the moon, adjust the stars slightly,

and their showers fall, bathing me in light and heat,

the pelt of cool warmth coming down like your jasmine shampoo.

It would be your turn now to help me,

tell me how I should, must take better care of myself,

the years have crept up on me faster than you before.

It’ll be damned hard to hear you though,

so much easier for you because I had your ear,

here, your arm to hold, shaking against the gathering dust,

and all the time, interminable for you, to do this and do that,

suffering gone on to next,

but from where you’ll be calling from,

and I do so need you to call and help me,

I’m hoping the ring volume’s set high enough

for me to hear, so I can pick up and listen.

Turning off the waterfall, I dry myself before the mirror,

examine what my face says about the clock,

and wait for you on what best to do next about myself.

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