rocketpaan (pazzesco_bella) wrote in smoking_beatnik,

last night

My room glowed gold
Six mismatched, messy candles
The wind cried outside my window

Mournful, it cried, and clumsily, it took the power out.
Five dark, damp, solitary hours
The chill of four more months of winter

Three wax burns on my fingers
Two cold feet in my slippers

One cup of tea; cold.
One me; shivering.

Yes, I miss the heat,
But I don’t miss electricity
And I don’t miss captivity

I know why the wind cries
But I can only imagine
How you look, lit by candlelight

The wind throatily moaned the blues
Outside my tangled sheets, my tangled hair
Outside my room, cold and crimson
I did not think, not once, of peeling wax
Slowly, softly off your skin
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