In the wee small hours of the morning

Life gets real
Condensed
The chill of the Christchurch June air
Sending goosepimples

Akin
To the effect of your touch

In the wee small hours of the morning
Friends are true
Falsities, false
Nonsense nonsensities
With whimsical wordplay
To entertain only myself

In the wee small hours of the morning
With no sun
To strike the angles of your face
Proximity, imagined
Delighted in
Anticipated
Desired.

Not needed
Not yet
But soon
Who knows
In the immortal words of my flatmate
We'll see.