As those insects rub their legs
I set my tempo of consumption to their rhythm
A steady pulse while I find the bottom of my glass
Alone
I hear them calling out to the night
Beckoning
A somber cry to the dark sky
Pleading for fellowship
Are we much different than the pests that hide
In those blades of grass
Aching for companionship
As their bodies wear thin through the night
Maybe I need a call of my own
For someone to answer to
But perhaps this is why I wrote this down
