Every night at 12:15
all of my skin starts to itch.
It sheds a thin layer of mist,
I wonder when it will heal.
Every day at 9 o'clock
I see your house under the big sycamore,
it's painted white with a shade of blue.
I wonder why you closed the door.
Every where I see your face
covered with my legs.
I swear it doesn't ache
to have you there, all over my brain.
