Its dark…
The night is cold,
The fear is old;
I grow tired…
Of waiting,
and reading through
All these notes left scattered
Written by you.

Where do you go?
What do you do?
When the real-time footage
Plays the loop through…
“Dinner is served”…
The bloodthirsty nerve!

It’s late…
The night is silent,
A painful quiet;
I grow sleepy…
And hungry,
I want to bite into
Every inch of the vinyl
Played on your queue.

What do you know?
What can you prove?
When the real-time footage
Of your dashboard plays through…
Red-lettered digital words…
Describe the song being heard.

Its puzzling…
The night is long,
Without your songs;
I grow weary…
Of listening,
For the sound of your steps
Coming to me.

What do you want?
Why can’t I move?
When the real-time footage
Of the road ahead of you…
Cuts abruptly off before…
The camera falls on you.