When sun bursts, semi-bold,
Upon the pantsless night,
Who knows what inconsequential conversations
We could hold sipping Bacardi and
Waiting for winter.
I might read my diary for Boredom’s sake,
Or mope my secrets out from Auden’s Abject Willow.
But, lonely in a heap of introspection,
I, tongue-tied in the sun,
Let quietness pass for character till
Darkness comes.