Pancakes

We ate pancakes at 4am, tongues thick with syrup
and coffee, thick with excuses
not to sleep.

The nights weighed out long
and strange in the fleshy neon streets.
If we slept we would miss the world, the pavements would wear down and eyes would glitter without seeing pillows.
There would be wine without us.

The earth was not sleeping.
So we drank on, eyes hot like infected wounds
and waited for morning to start
for bed.