I stand against the streetlamp, without cigarette or drink for a crutch,
watching a group of young people laugh and be in love and seem so happy.
It’s cold again after a warm snap, and I’m thankful for the chill air
and the clear sky that cities fill with nothing, chasing away the stars.
Those young people seem so happy, like the world is theirs and free,
like they’ve never known sadness or regret or gnawing, bleeding fear.
No cigarettes, no drinks, nothing of that sort, but there’s so much time,
and Love is spelled T-I-M-E, but everyone is elsewhere with theirs.
A boy, a girl, wrapped as tight as salt, kiss and swallow the moon above.
The ultimate drug beyond all the others, that I’ve chased to the ends of morning.
I remember, a long ago night. My heartaches for the young couple’s beauty,
and hates them, and what’s to steal the moon back from them, hide it forever.
A touch in the night, or eyes to watch the little victories, or just pass a morning.
Maybe they know all to well the burning night, why they greedily keep the moon their own.