it's late
(with flickering stars
above
and no moral law
below)
I hide behind
the cigarette smoke
and some vagueness
our eyes
don't meet
because
I am starring
at the pavement
I know though
that your lips
are like a wave
drawn by children
when they draw
a bird
there are
dark shadows
under my eyes
and my fingers
move constantly
you think I look
like a wounded
rook
...
you give me
a glass of water
and draw the curtains
so the daylight
won't
scare
me
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