three 36, i think

tick tock
goes the chime of the clock...
three...thirty six,
and i am sure you sleep..
i bet it is quiet...
you say you are on the farm, right? in the country.
i know that quiet,
i sold my land when i moved up here,
i lived on five and a half acres...in the woods,
it was bordered by sixty acres of woods...
on a dead end road,
i lived on the opposite side of the road to a cove of a big lake.
the lake was about seventy miles around...
my grandparents lived on a two hundred seventy acre farm...
in a house built in the seventeen nineties...
i spent my summers there...
i know that quiet of which you speak...
now, i sit in the dark with a computer screen's glow...
and try to imagine the quiet i used to know.
the farm house...
the stairs squeaked...
i would lay in bed and listen..
when i was a little boy..
the rain is bouncing off the roof...
dropping through the branches...
i hear it outside...
and i still know you sleep...
what if i were to touch your back as you were to sleep...
slowly run my fingers up and down the middle of your back...
from the neck...down to the small,
the small of the back is so warm and sexy..
would you feel my warmth?
the tingle of my fingers,
my palm...the rough of my skin
as my strength of my hands
up and down...here it could all begin...?
the quiet,
oh it is all coming back,
the rain and its pitter pat..
i miss the hoot of my hidden owl...
she so spoke to me in the quiet and how,...,
i listen quiet in the shadows of my sheets..
waiting for sweetness of my dreams...
waiting for my eye lids to meet.
my owl, she comforted me...
i wonder if she still speaks..?
tick tock,
only to the aging is such a sound a relief...
she hides…my moon,
behind her clouds she so sleeps,
i am here...
she sleeps her darkness around me,
and around you too...
quietly she whispers her subliminal tunes
taking away any of would be doom.
to take a simple walk...chat...soon?
yet i feel...below tonight's vacant moon
brevity in us unknown,
yet still like a seed so sown,
even in your quiet,
you begin...
a glimpse of a familiarity known,
from what has passed, has grown.
tick tock,
coffee within its glass,
cold and sits half...
sip by sip
to drink,
by my lips,
the sweetness of sugar i taste
sip by sip...
the warmth seems to pass
i drink,
making it to last...
sip by sip...
across my lips,
my tongue, off the rim, catches every drip...
ever wonder?...
i read in print...
subliminal, a hidden speech,
could that be from whence, we seek?
tick tock