3:37 A.M.

3:37 a.m.

I wake.
I wake often at 3:37. Desires inspired
in Illuminated darkness
and hunger.
I want ice cream
with you.
Half asleep,
wholly consumed, vacant dreams,
your voice shows through.
Unusually delusional.
Familiar image,
tussled hair,
threadbare kimono
and comfort.

Quiet.
Front stoop shadow at 3:56. I show up
with ice cream and excuses.
You with questions, and
sleep in your eyes.
Silently nothing happens.
Lawns hiss, lamppost shines on
streets bereft of motion.
Come closer.
Dreadfully dead humidity
and well-weathered wicker
leaves an
impression on
bare legs.

Hush.
You stultify my banter, caution me not
to laugh so loud or I’ll wake up
the neighbours.
I tell you I don’t care
who hears us or
who sees us
through this heat.
The ice cream
is melting. 4:24,
you take
the spoon and the last mouthful
dribbles down
your chin.

Compulsion.
Not caring, or even daring, that neighbours
might find you on top of a shadow
naked
on the front lawn at 4:37.
Ice cream tub
discarded on the grass.
Liberated illumination.
Spoon still
in your
mouth, you are
radiant
and dripping
on me.

©2017 j.g. lewis

Poem Kubili is an international
companionship of poets with
a common love of writing and
reading poetry. To read more of
of the group’s collected works
visit poemkubili.com

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