new poetry

[lunajack13]

Insomniac Hours

in the insomniac
hours after midnight
we talk
esoteric to
concrete
and back
words and
understanding
gliding like
oil on skin
soothing muscles
too tense for
sleep

when words
and oils
have soothed
the bull
enough to
give Morpheus
his due,
your kiss of
menthol and
mocha
carries me
home.