. Black Cats and Oranges.

Twisting through the midnight streets, we meander,
Touching any hope floating by.
The shadow of a tree makes me
pause. My eyes lean in and when they wrap themselves
around the little sunset globes, I cry.
I hate oranges.
Look, there are plastic stars resting on all the fences;
I wrestle them.
I lose and I sigh.

Black cats yowl, the yellow, hollow
O's of their eyes pulling me into the darkness.
I take a step back.

I'm on the outside now. I can taste it.
I'm walking alone, a single solider,
leading but not the leader,
but it's alright.

.Counting Lovers Like Stars.

Counting lovers like stars. Candles
Burning in empty wine bottles.
Hair is pulled back, singing the blues
Once more, no longer amused and
The sun rises, blooms like a lily
In a rainbow sky. Still, it's silly,
This desire to be loved the way
I want to be loved. So each day
I play lovers like piano keys,
Leaving like a butterfly on a careless breeze.

One day, pulled back my eyelashes will rise.
The piano will burn, disappear with a sigh.
The darkness, like me, will be silent and still.
In the sun I will rise, rise until

There is a word in the dark.
And it is ugly and stark.