As always, I can feel the night’s
breath climb through my skin.
I am sitting here on this empty park
bench on a midnight waiting
for a taxi to stop by. Today’s
a holiday, and thus, the city
is devoid of its once river
of neon headlights coming
from speeding vehicles. I feel
the night’s embrace tightening
as minutes pass by. So I lit
a cigarette hoping to find
a hint of warmth. Then angels
spew out of my mouth
as If I have a choir boy’s
tongue. I see them rearrange the
stars and painted your face
because they all know
that tonight, is not a night
for a lonely heart to freeze
off in a corner of the street
waiting for something
that will never come.
And as the ash fall
off from this shortening
cigarette, the white holy
haze dispersed to oblivion
like your face did before
the sun burnt the sky
to the darkness that it is
tonight.