still - 06/11/16

it's 3 am
and the second hand of the clock on the wall
is almost as loud
as my heartbeat
in my ear
against the pillow
and the mouse scratching an escape
is almost as harsh
as my breathing,
as the strangely cold June air,
as the cat waiting to
torture
that poor mouse more.
it's 3 am
and I am trying to pretend
that I have diamonds rolling down my cheeks,
that snowflakes are falling on the pillow,
that there's a rain cloud in doors,
that the cat has been licking my face,
that it's allergies,
that the ocean misses me as much as I miss it
and sent me a salty water breeze to show it,
that the ceiling is leaking,
that it's not 3 am two weeks later
and I'm still finding new reasons
to cry over you when
it's 3 am.