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Night Sounds

I sacrificed sleep for cool air but fuck it I can't sleep anyway and it's summertime, the window by definition must be open, tis the season for night-sounds and sodium glare.
Can't stop thinking about fucking, can't stop thinking about cell membranes, can't stop wondering about my carbon footprint and the cause of my perpetual headache, what I'll wear to a job interview six months in the future, if I will have time for breakfast tomorrow. May fucking sixth. Cry, baby, cry. You won't wake me. Spill your drunken thoughts at me, let's regret together as I slip my fingers into myself; warm, wet, restless. Tangled sheets, tangled hair. Sweat. The staccato breath of lust. This, this is what makes me close my eyes. It's almost as if there were two of us.

Goodnight, moon.