Sonnet

Dear friend. It’s 3:27 AM and the last I looked
it was Friday, but times change and so do days
which makes it a Saturday. I wish I had
stayed out longer. I wish you had noticed me
and I had spoken with the same wisdom as
when I talk to myself strolling through the dawn.
You can play your horn as long as I can write
my poems and we come to a mutual understanding
where words and music mesh into one
solitary song— not like oil and water, but like
milk and chocolate syrup, simultaneously
sweet and satisfying and smooth.

It’s 3:33 AM and I still cannot hear you or
speak you due to my pink smoke-filled eyes.

--Erica Kaufman