2:06 in the AM

I'm feeling rather poetic in this early morning hour. When ever I think of poetry, it's in my head, I get the image of glass, like a window, or those prison things. I imagine two people pressing up against it and leaving marks, but it's cleaned up afterwards and no one knows anything happened. Two people experiancing something through this glass and yet afterwards it's as though nothing remains, or it wasn't significant. Why can't it remain? Or perhaps, it's the seperation itself that causing things to not remain. Who knows, I don't understand my own thoughts, but I think them. I seem to think of floating as well, as in never touching ground, or being close but not doing so. Hmm, I ended up being fascinated with myself. Well, 2:25 now, I suppose I should get some rest.