Stumbling drunk and dreaming of
stars in darkly Milked skies —
open eyes only find dots of planes,
the purple-pink haze of city lights.
Night spinning, my eyes search the ground for stability —
decaying leaves and empty bottles fallen from
empty trees and decaying people remind me
of why I'm alone at three o’clock walking home:
The letter you left attempting apology
ended: "I'll always love you, but good-bye."
I watch in the dim ambers of sleep-lacking streetlamps
the culpable, crumpled paper I kick down the street
among bottles and leaves, and the light
glows my breath to golden clouds, torn
to nothing in the night, as I continue on my way.
By RB ©