A bowl

Just a bowl

Empty but for a rotting pear
and the core of a once green
apple

The shadows pass over this table
as the setting sun drifts into
the abyss of an Autumn sky

Darkness now

The bowl all but vanishing
in the solitude of a moonless
transgression

The bottle

Oh yes, the bottle

I can see it's outline
in the forgotten drag
of the day's last cigarette

Amber solace to sooth
a tortured mind and numb
a jaded soul

Until morning...