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the world is a vampire
some palces still exist, untouched by the slender
hand of human destruction, below the surface, beneath the
slanted tile rooftops, below the smoky exterior where women
are women and men are men, there is gay music, as the
cigars and cigarettes burn into night, the men speak WORDS
between puffs of smoke, and women waltz to and fro in
nothing more than a sigh. Here are the soft petals, the
netting that shrouds the bed. Here is a life that no one
can touch; here hate is only love with a chip on its
shoulder. Here the rain is soft and warm as it makes it’s
way through the holes in the roof, down the crumbling walls
through the creaky floor to the room below where lie two-of-
a-kind entwined in love with words that flow as thick as
honey and wine between them as no more than glances past
the shutters that hang by a hinge as the rain pours, mixed
with liquor, mixed with sweat and the loneliness is only
felt by those outside...
welcome to love...