My city is magic when I'm the last man awake.
Stars dance like winking fireflies,
streaking notes of gibberish sing alongs
and the blur of an ambling
rhythmless sway through cold fingertips of damp midnight.

Lamps shutter at my approach.
Out of malfunction?
Out of fear?
Or respect?

I am the Daydream King.
Wrapped smartly in silky twilight
wrapping an auspicious scepter of wisecracks against the pavement.

Still
being the last King of Daydreams can be a bit lonely.
Especially overlooking a hill of dull dawns
and the oncoming onslaught of duty, and drudgery.

We could be cowboys.
We could be knights.
I'll be king.
You'll be queen.
And we'll build a castle against the gathering light,
overlooking all wonder and glory

And I won't be lonely again.