At night
Streets of this city are isolated
Whoever said cities do not sleep might
Have lied.
The morning touches the sky so gently
As a lover
Paints it so tenderly
Yet with passion of blinding love
This city
Has people of most ardent eyes
Of most wonderous hearts.
I will be one of them sometime
That will be when I’m at my best.

I haven’t been
At my best yet.