Last Night

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We shamble-chased

down thin streets, baring

skin in those curt hours

when the night is coldest.

New sounds adorn

old towns shaped from

worn, cream sandstone:

young hearts on parade.

We sang ‘til our voices

snapped. We laughed ‘til

our chests became concave

with the weight of wheezing.

I ask her for a lighter;

some small sign of community

fostered & kindled

in smoke-curdled words.

I don’t smoke. But

the ritual brings me delight. Our cheap cigars

just play at bourgeois decadence:

we make our own stars bloom between our lips.