Untitled poem written in a sleepless daze

Please please let the morning not come

Let me be in this coffin of a room

Of blue walls, book shelves and beige curtains

Let me bury myself in my bed,

Sermons of the cold lights of dawn-break.

I wouldn't wait for a reply

You, the person whose name come

To my lips like a well sung hymn

You, whose name for me

Has become a synonym of lovers

If by a stroke of luck; or a stretch of will

And I stayed long enough for your reply

To find me, well...

I can't help but picture a beached whale at this point.