deep browns and golds,
and skyscrapers as high as tombstones,
speaking through the train station’s whisper,
drinking for a hundred thousand dollars a day.
and all of it is like molten metal,
searing hot and cold to the touch,
the ardency of you being with me,
the frost you gave when you left,
Nothing but a bad memory and quite a head ache,
And nothing but awkward explaining to do,
I’ll be better without you,
Without you.