The End of Days at 3am

The end of days at 3am

The clock ticks my life away,as November yawns

and drizzles on indifferently,in

the fog which slyly chokes the streets
which drifts and fades in alleyways
where lovers meet.
And stops at grinning windows,
where a post-box stalks unwary souls.
And winds past the bones of a graveyard,
pauses there and listens hard
for sounds of the approaching dawn.
And seeing soon there are none,
gathers itself and carries on.
Somewhere deep in this infinity
you begin again.
Without me.
There is a stillness
in this room
filling my senses full
of your absence