Member Rara Avis
We sit on the blank face of the hill.
The same clouds skirting the same moon
preside over us.
Below, the city glows --
its light is no match
for the glowing end.
A cigarette nestled within your lips,
scribing shadows in the sky.
You draw the light out.
I watch you blow a halo,
imagined around the moon.
Soft twining twists, lighted silver.
Will they reflect in the streets,
across all the city's structures
rising to meet the sky?
Theirs to see.
Ours to keep.
I watch you watching me,
then reach across the space between us,
pull your cigarette free.
The only glow, now in tremble,
the passage that my hand defines
as the light travels from your lips
Your subtle taste
From our hill,
we watch the city,
as twilight's glow fades from the sky
(the same stars come into focus).
We break into night --