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.