It's three a.m. and my sheets are cold.

it`s three a.m. and my sheets are cold.

1.
Sometimes I don`t hear a single word you say
I only watch you speak
and wish for paper
to describe your eyes and your fingers
but most of the time I only see the floor.
and other people passing by.
I wonder what they think of us.
Sometimes I know they don`t truely see us
(but) sometimes I can feel them watching me.
they are wondering, what is she thinking?
(no one knows this but you)
I wonder if they see the Scarlet Letter on my chest
I wonder if I did something wrong.
And all the time you`re saying something special to me.
and I know I`ve missed it.
And I wish I could ask you to repeat it
but I ask so many times.
Sometimes I only see you speaking
and it`s hard to consentrate with these floods.
and I wish for paper to write it all down
(I would write it in such a beautiful book)
(and I would make my handwriting so nice)
(and all your simple love and friendship (for they are
the same) songs would be published for me)
(I would be so happy)
All I can do is mumble I`m sorry. . .
I am standing up and have no pen
and I wonder if I can fit it all into my book of us
(my friendship book, I promise)
and if I`ll remember it well enough after I`ve cried.

* * *

2.
Sometimes I write in the dark
and I thank the muses for keeping paper and pen on my bedstand.
and in the middle of the night I`ll be thinking
why are your eyes so dark?
[you do not make my eyes dark]
I let my eyes water
and the blue and the green melt-
(your eyes are so nice)
and I draw a black line to show my saddness
And all the time the dim light makes a long dark shadow of my pen
and as I write a longer line my words dissappear
for I am rather blind at night
Sometimes I wonder if one day I will lose my eyes
(my ice)
and I wonder if I'll write in the dark all of the time
and their only function be to cry?
and lose my job and go to a special school
and will I ever write a book?
and will it have a happy ending?
and will it have an ending?

and will I ever find someone to always be in it?

will I write it in the dark?

* * *

3.
Will I write it in the dark
when the tiny light of the electric candle
shines on the wall in a hazy half-circle
in the shape of a setting sun?

and will my eyes strain to scatter nessicary words as they flow from me
(the brightness of your eyes is that of the coming day)
and the beauty of her smile is impending and betraying
she lies with her smile
and she ignores our truth
she only sees the red I would not have had
even had I a chance.