late night, past midnight
and there is yet work to be done
so I top up the bottle
with more hot water
like some comfy hen
wrapping herself up in warm feathers
cluck cluck cluck
except I stopped pretending long ago:
sudden, unpredictable cold
shivering down the spine like
a branch of flashing leaves
in an invisible breeze:
I don’t brave that anymore
like some brazen teen
infatuated with designs of cool
of “what if anyone did see?”
but cuddle up to the hot water
bottled
snug close like a young cat
curled in the crook of my lap
fast asleep, purring
while my eyes droop over keys
fingers slipping, dipping into darkness
those invisible fountain pens
flashing glossy black
on bright white screens.
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three good words 