I rise with the last breath of the midnight oil
Restore my weary glasses to the shallow drawer,
My eyes have served their purpose, spent the night in toil,
Now see as well as others in the darkness pure.
I think of bedtime stories, of hot chocolate and of sex:
Things I think of every night which I have not had in years;
And where one is and how one feels controls what one forgets
So all my studies vanish now as I ascend the stairs.