Another soul staggers up the road, wearing his fitted evening suit with matching waistcoat, buttoned to his bulging naval,
holding a bottle of pinot gris in one hand and a thick cigar in the other.
His heart, wrapped in sharp barbed wire, beats to the flickering streetlights, hammers for the licking fire that runs through his body, his flaming ambition, his searing desire,
he takes in a breath of city air, to shout in poetry, proclaim in prose,
to shed his drink and fancy clothes,
to speak his mind, arrange and compose his wild thoughts, swirled with wine and tobacco, to let the weight drop, fall and go,
to let her hear, to let her know
that he loves her.
She’s over a thousands mile away but he shouts it,
for the sleeping families and stray, alley cats that slink
the still, silent night,
just to see if it sounded right.