sister space

The late nights usually surrendered to sleep

Are instead spent rolled over on our sides

Eyelids weak and the arms that hold up our heads weaker

As we run rivers of words out of our mouths.

Often more fulfilling than the hours of sleep they substitute

This connection creates a glow from our hearts despite the early morning darkness.

Sometimes blood will boil, to be followed by periods of silence and cold shoulders

But back in our beds, behind shuttered windows, we will always come to talk again.