Bedtime at 11

11:11
and the electrons fired
at my screen slide inexorably on.

A minute can last a second.

11:12
I considered some elusive metaphors.
They were pretty but didn't link well.

11:13
Where did 11:12 go?

You'd think this poem would be written in the early hours of the morning.

But not today. The night is young, and I plan to spend it well.

11:14
I'm not going to go out. Not this time.
Life is for living, and you cannot live
behind closed eyes. Be it a maths lesson,

11:15
or be it missing the gaze of your resplendent eyes.