I could call this day done
Eight minutes more
I could climb aboard that cloud
And ride the snowflakes falling
I could slam back one last cigarette
Stained with leftover lipstick
I could swing myself from jeans
To a satin sheeted bed
I could remember how you sighed
Just before our long distance goodbye
I could spin my cares into a skein
Of woolen why-should-I-worry yarn
I could look back at all I've packed
Knowing moving forward takes a leap
I could let the clock tick tock alone
Unaffected, give way to much needed sleep
I could allow this last twenty four hours
To dissolve into well steeped memory tea
In just eight minutes
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem