Misbehave Past Midnight (A Poem of Love, Lust and Suicide)

Seconds, sweet, are hours
When confronted with the thought
Of seeing you past midnight
And in this world, we're caught

To stretch the grasp of stomach ache
I'll pray we don't repair
Hide this love in friendships sights
And weave lust through your hair

It's true, my dear, this time is soft
For running out of mind
I'll sleep forever within your grasp
And in these wondrous times

So speak, fair one, across our graves
Of promises to misbehave