It's on the bottle,
On the lit cigarette,
The ***** sheets
And sweaty bodies
That are tangled
Within the emotional
Textiles and figures
That dance on the walls
With each passing car.

It's the cats piano
And the manic that follows.
It's the mouth that opens
And the sound that lingers.

The terms and conditions
Which form when entering into
A loft that isn't yours,
But someone else's.

It's chocolates and cigarettes,
Whiskey and
Of course
A solo sunrise.