August 14, 2007

Seaglass

The hotel room
is rented for one night.
Smoke paints unfinished
thoughts in the air

like moonlight on seaglass.

The cigarette's insomniac
flicker
is a long-defunct lighthouse
in an ocean of longing.

The bedsheets rise
and fall, anonymous
but warm.

1 comment:

BradyDale said...

Oh.
Man.
I am so depressed right now.
That hit a pain spot.