“Come,” she says,
and we walk together.
Along the cold pavement and under the deep shadows of the city,
inconsequential little beings — us,
we walk together.
It’s strange, how night colours the streets a beautiful shade of melancholy,
a wonderfully depressing landscape of metal and broken glass,
ripe and ready to be conquered.
But we don’t resort to much conquering, we leave that to the shadows.
We wonder, walk, wilt like month-old bouquets,
and we smoke — quite merrily.
Under a canopy of starlight,
we find a bed made of cleaved souls
with a duvet woven of lost dreams,
As she sinks into the sheets,
they swallow her whole —
lungs, head, heart, and grief.
She smiles at the stars.
They glower back at her —
Jealous of her empire — ruled in rust and concrete.
“Come,” they seem to say,
and so, inconsequential little beings — us,
we fade together.
[Featured art by Asfa Sabrin]
An Ort of Profundity 