There is always more temptation at night;
when the moon pushes the sun away
from center stage, and events unfold
beyond daylight’s imagination.
The hours creep towards deceit –
I wait up to hear your key argue with the lock,
the sound that tells me you still consider this
home, despite you actions.
Your guilt crawls into bed with us;
in the morning, your voice will tell the story
I want to believe, all the lines dressed in circumstance.
And while logic tells me this in on you,
I wear your sins like a cape, tightly secured
at the shoulders, oblivious to seasonal
changes or fashion.