Junk Light

An ode to stupid all-nighters in front of the TV.

By Suze KayPublished 3 years ago • 1 min read

We spent a week's worth of nights awake

at the flickering altar. It made sense to us.

What was budding was secret, and the night was made for secrets.

My dream partner, my movie dreamer, my accidental thigh brush.

We could have gotten through every movie worth watching, but we filled

our eyes with junk light instead. It was beautiful.

Gratuitous gore coated our retinas. 2AM commercials, too loud,

Pried us from the couch, brought us kneeling for the remote.

For one week I would not take his name in vain. But yours?

Oh, my God: Just one more hour watching junk light with him.

I'm prone. I'm begging for the rerun.

I'm hopeful for the needless sequel.

Pastry chef by day, insomniac writer by night.

Find here: stories that creep up on you, poems to stumble over, and the weird words I hold them in.

Or, let me catch you at www.suzekay.com

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