Midnight is empty hour,
because the streets hold stray cars
trying to find a way home
from another night of strangers.
I know strangers.
Their names linger upon my palms
and my mouth tingles to recite
each syllable.
I hold them as secrets-
tuck under my tongue
and savor the taste of regret
and shame.
They are minty fresh
with a bite of ghost text messages
and the sting of hidden wedding rings,
but they leave my teeth pearly white.
I watch them scatter into headlights
and know I will never see them again.
Midnight is my superpower
and love has left me an empty street.
Poetic Trials 