Black windowpanes
Single yellow candle
Abandoned lighthouse
On an empty island
The kain batik waves
In the seven pm heat
But words have never switched
Between stranger’s lips
Except casual mouthfuls
Of how many sugars
To take
His folded sleeves
Show a mess
Of watercolor etching
On his bare back
Spread by forgotten strokes
And careless promises
That lingers through morning
At night the ink leaks free
His back a still canvas
Filling with nicotine
And ketamine dreams
And missed yellow brick roads
Right before the light goes out
Tomorrow he will wake
With the colors in
Once more