Four Days of Dawn Sleep

because i've been staying awake until four and five in the morning "and we like what we need to" is what i was writing last night when we sat in the kitchen drinking tea and i was drawn to this poem i wrote about my cousin's suicide. he made sense or came to terms with some sort of immediate conditions and made a move. i call that one “A Deck of Cards” and the last stanza goes like this

"And the kitchen clock moving
and watching nonetheless
while he made sense
with what he needed to.

Then he shut himself off."

but now i'm thinking about this "Four Days of Dawn Sleep" and drafting something else together:

And the birds are my friends.
Perhaps deserving something of an ode.
or something less.

Morning cappuccino coupling up
to another late night.
And your photo-snapping warming
me up more than the small croissant.

Thanks for that. For keeping my progression
progression going because, you know, part
of me clings to my fiveyearsfromnow me to hold me still in the present to make these late nights cigarettes mistakes luscious
ones luscious mornings pained au chocolat
with too much caffeine shaking me just a little too much

helping shrink against this future me
and make the rightnow me more secure.