isn't city lights glowing
all time of night , trying to beat
sleep into a pulp ,
or candles or her best perfume

nor the rough *** , no matter
the howls or Dom Perignon
corks popping
the lines all chopped

up , no telling
what love is, the richest few
never know , how could
us paupers and waitresses ever deign
to confer

what true hearts unaffected
by mean streets the smoothest worded
seductions, promises and longing stares
ever consider the truth

or love or even


what is meaningful
just surviving