I wondered a.m. or p.m. as if I had a choice
After having closed the curtains at noon.
It was the perfect day to run away,
But I had already turned myself in,
Complete, but a night's work nontheless.
The lids were cracked open,
Smacking back like measuring tape
Taking numbers on the length of deep red veins.
I didn't want to wait for the sun again,
The solstice when we'd ask each other,
"Are you Tom or are you Summer?"
But more melon light reflected through the dirty glass
And the music never stopped when the night was over.