Nights are still settling
in this city covered
with the veins of tomorrow’s promise.
I do not recognize yesterday’s face,
or the fire of June’s breath.
Nights with you still are
underneath the yellow gaze
of these streets.
Love, we remain
a target for their crystallized
expressions of awe.
Cigarettes and candle-smoke
arise from the vapor of
the city’s lungs,
and so we inhale not only
the pulls of cancer, but
each other. These tears
only express that longing:
The distance frails me apart.