I have a way of catching the clock
as the second hand tries
to sneak past 11:11.
Wishes want to slip away from me.
I  hold to them so  tight,
I’m afraid I’m bound 
to squeeze out all the magic of the moment. 
I want to whisper to the universe 
what I need, it’s so small. 
I’m so small. I want to sob and scream
straight into space and time,
give me this one little thing. 
I want to tell you too, what I long for
in the quietest part of the night. 
But we both know I can’t. 
Or it won’t come true. 
The peonies won’t bloom.