Linger

whiffs of rogue raindrops
in black dreams
the strings of the night
plucked again
and they whisper no names
but the outstretched lips
touch a smile
it tastes like morning
the shadows linger
like old friends
and make awkward conversations
with a distracted dawn
the heart is yet to curl back
maybe after another whiff
another taste
of your lips
will you linger long enough?

Cure

You see the dark circles of a poet's insomnia

And I, the poetic justice

Of a dead-pan habit that keeps me alive

Through nights drugged with poetry

And catchphrases like " 'Tis either love or smallpox!"

Except that one you can cure

And the other cures you.

Note:

A late night exercise in keeping writer's block at bay. The part about dark circles is autobiographical. *yawn* 

The quote mentioned in the fifth line is by Woody Allen ("I was nauseous and tingly all over... I was either in love or I had smallpox.")