A Clockwork Owl

Fun with form. No. I'm not an alcoholic, and no Mom, this is not what happens to me.

Just twelve days it's been
you me and the station.
Only one kiss on the lips,
and the rain it drips
with two minutes to go,
and no way to know.
In three days hence
nothing will make sense,
but before I say goodbye
you let out a sigh
and five weeks come rushing back
as I make my way down the track.

Six strangers trail behind,
but only one's on my mind.

Seven minutes now, driving home
Your mixed thoughts start to roam.
And by eight o'clock I'm far away
as night draws curtains on our last day.
Nine bodies pass through tight dark spaces
Swallowed by stares from alien faces.
Ten drinks now feeling hazy.
The spinning room doesn't faze me.
Eleven minutes pass while I'm on the ground,
Hands put me to bed, they don't want me around.
Past twelve I'm still up, forgotten and drunk
Night owl's work ends when the moon has sunk.