It is a cold night, endless and icy,
and I sit alone reading a newspaper
with no headlines, under a light
that hides the words as broken down taxis
carrying dead tourists run the boulevard
to hotels where no one checks in.
I am a ghost with no eyes.
Under a moon masked by clouds,
listening to nothing as the evening weeps,
the wind whistles down congested streets
where the cars sit unmoving, rusted and dead.
Time passes through my mind like a stiletto
slicing through my ribs.
But here I will sit, here I will wait,
feeling the clock tick away moments
where I could bathe in starlight,
where I could sing in a voice birthing summer,
but instead I am unmoved, bleeding away Life,
watching for one last sight of you.
I am a ghost with no eyes.
I would cry for you, but I would bleed out
before the ambulance could rescue me.
Itâ??s wonderful knowing mine are the last lips you kissed.
Here I will sit, here I will wait,
as the clock relentlessly ticks, emptying my universe
of all the moments where I saw your face.
