Is that the yapping of a dog,
or a croak from a bird.
Is that sound from the drains,
or a incoming train.
Is that glow from a street lamp,
or the hum of the moonlight,
Is that dampness from a bench,
or the condensation from the cold night.
Is that someone in the trees,
or is branches swaying with the breeze.
Is that a snap from an intruders foot,
or is that just falling wood.
Is that you watching me?
or useless thoughts kicking in.
Is that my heart beat?
or loud increasing drums playing in the distance.

Is that your eyes soaking in my skin,
your breath in my ear,
your presence engulfing me,

is that you within the trees
or is it just me?

From bed to couch,
with shoulders sharing a distant brush,
you light a cigarette between sharp teeth,
your back bent so the cherry illuminates my naked knee.

That small fire spark,
of blooming blushing color,
grants me more warmth,
than you are willing to donate and let me discover.

It's smoke fumes the voiceless room,
the ashes drift delicately to embrace the floor,
I watch with eyes of green and wobbling lips,
until you complete the parting ritual.

Once you're gone I sit for a while,
mulling and chewing on my gagging thoughts,
endlessly seeking an answer for just...
one dreading question.

Why does smoke and ashes,
always linger longer around me,
than your presence?

I'm nothing but a drawing,
ready to be erased with a single scrub.

I run,
and arrive
at someplace worse.

I mend,
and end up,
more disfigured.

My circus of trying,
goes on,
and on and on...

A clown,
trailing me in glee for the fall,
cheering my weak knees on as I crawl,

I'm tempted
so tempted to drop,
But

Patience is all I've got left.