the ritual

in a little corner
of an unknown room
where flickering lights
filter in through broken windows
and bring with them
the smoke
of someone else's memories
and faint remnants
of forgotten festivities
you lie wrapped
in a blanket
waiting
for a reluctant young dawn
that wants to sleep in.
it protests and holds on tightly
to the twinkling cloak of night
that must recede.
cold feet shuffle,
rub against each other for warmth
and find themselves in a losing battle.
it will end the way it always has.
dawn and you shall greet each other
with the strained comfort
of resignation.
and seek solace
in the inglorious bastard
of your unholy union.Work
shall carry you to evening
where this marriage of convenience
can once more find rest and refuge
in little corners of unknown rooms
wrapped in blankets.