Sit up with closed eyes and the lamp on, 

reel the days back with lightbulb sunsets,  

plant your feet and turn time's dance down, 

then rise from the west and come back to bed. 

Don’t let the orbiting swirls of the chair  

remind you of our old days ahead. 

We've already been through those. 

In a roundabout way, we'll be  

there again. Arguing about the clouds, 

seeing gaslight shine from memory. 

Go on, let the chair spin out a tale 

about how we're happy in this room, 

or how there's no such thing as night, 

and then we'll sleep together, like switches in the lights.