I like the moonrise of things,
the soft embrace of glowing darkness.
the whispered caress of warm wind
and cicadas sighing in the still night sound.
I breathe your heavy stilted smell,
weighted with dreams and mincing heartache,
stormy twilight breath, charged with loving lust, playful apathy
where the air isn’t fresh enough,
my windows cannot open wide enough,
to engulf the entire city,
to wrap it ’round me and feel the shifting flicker of each denizen’s eyelash,
mid-blink, mid-breath, mid-scream.
Where am I ever, but here?
a solitary, singular soul
plotting permanence in prose and poetry
in the quiet buzzing darkness.