4 am 

Early morning, late at night.

I heard someone talking about you again.

Unlike most he spoke in reverence of your peace, of your creative space.

Spoke out of love – no one else is around, up during your moment each day.

I haven’t visited in a while.

I have no excuses – only lies to me.

I need to stay up or get up.

4am the time for poetry, novels, stories and if I am lucky, the perfect sentence. 

Fall into the flow

Only when I am trying to shut off my thoughts does my subconscious dance freely.

It’s a game we both play – a wicked dance.

When I need you or want you – you can’t help but saunter off into the corner.

Tucked away in comfort, drifting towards dreams you pull me out of bed.

A single scene, a glib piece of dialogue or a character that I know I’ve met but can’t place.

All entertainment, value and stories I need to hear but they don’t exist.

How can it be?

How can I put them down in words?

It will become an obsession –

It will eventually torment me – 

Maybe that will be enough.