Last Signal On Deck

The jacket is hanging behind the door

Drafts coming in through the floor

My phone screen lights up the dark hall

I write out the draft and then stall

(almost sending it now)

(the wind is too cold)

Under the yellow streetlights of the empty overpass We were a perfect

harmony that wasn't built to last

Now

I am watching the dark waves crash And the screen fades to

black at last (hmmmm)

On the cold deck

Looking back at the shore

I close the tab (ahhhh)