At night you’re pretty loud,
and your cheering whispers
that gently clasp my
face soothe
my burning
like wax gauzes.
Night is a seamless,
trapeze of
serious labyrinths
but you seem to know
your way like
a blind man
does;
you measure and lift
your feet with your
eyes closed and follow
the subtly dying
sounds until
you reach a decimated
place that is
replete with memories.
And there, right there
my vanity is the size of your
soles and when the night
comes;
moonless, starless and vacant—
you’re harmless as a whisper
in crime getaways.
—2018 ©