The midnight snack

I wake up late at night famished to the core
For words, for beauty, for meaning and more
Try to shut it out but it wouldn't let me sleep
Need to write, to rant, to proffess and weep

So I open the door and the little bulb comes on
Look around for a meal, just a snack till the morn
The same old dishes, the I, the God and a little love
Some childhood thoughts frozen in the freezer above

But sometimes the heart wants more than leftovers
It wants genies and faries and four leafed clovers
But feasts take work and I have a lazy heart
Like the good old scooter it only works kiss start

So I look at my watch and I step out in the cold
Walk to my neighbours house, a friend and muse of old
The lights still on and I hear fingers on the keyboard
Good signs, she must have a fridgefull of feelings stored

She smiles, I smile, but I'm not strong enough to play yet
She understands and in her arms, I remember and I forget
She feeds with her hands, pretty shadows on the wall
There's a fireplace and it roars, hopes rise, doubts fall

We lay on the bed, both devoured, both at peace
Smoke rises like it must after every gluttonous feast
I hold her and wonder if thanks belittles the act
But like all great eaters, I lack in manner and tact

I kiss her forehead and whisper those three gratefull words
She is enraged, she curses, she knows the most hatefull words
Dinner and a show, my smile seems to offend her even more
She goes quite and cold, and points towards the door

I don't mind the cold night, the nourished soul is immune again
I start the short walk home as the morning drizzle turns to rain
But as I reach my door, the horrid realization hits my head
I've done it again and left my keys next to her heart shaped bed

I sit in my garden, loved and alone, I scream and moan
While the winter rain playfully soaks me right to the bone
She opens her door and calls, I think I know that look
There's the hunger again. . . I really should hire a cook