aloysiuss

It seems cliched now, to speak of the night. But the silhouettes of my dreams implore For me to step from under the streetlight. Perhaps it doesn’t matter anymore. “It is too obvious,” they say to me, “To search for new stars in your own backyard When you have never seen a galaxy." I wonder if that makes me a coward. But I'm told to write about what I know. And what I know is the silken evening. One hit wonders and bottles in a row. Meanwhile, the moonlight will keep on bleeding. I wake on the floor, the sun in my eyes And the fact you are gone is no surprise.