Late
We stand tall,
Under the moon,
Where the dead leaves fall.
Our lips smoke-licked
Our bare cheeks red,
Cold winds shifting in our heads.
We stand tall,
By the blank street,
Where the headlights fall,
Numbed and nipped,
Our curled ears red,
Cold thoughts echo in our heads.
We stand tall,
Streetlamp-lit,
We let our unlinked fingers fall,
Unkissed, cracked
Our soft lips red,
Unspoken endearments ‘prisoned in our heads.