After party

Another cigarette

Another day

His silence so grave

I could hear the crisp burning

Of the folded paper in his joint

Of my heart on the unforgiving streets

Nothing comes out of

This foolish try

Except for knowing it yet again

How paradoxical, pertinent

It was to try and get denied

Another love of the same genre

Same people, different times

I call it courage in flattery

It was but a cry of unmet needs

Soaked in Rakija for about an hour

Longer than that, could have killed it

Or flushed it down the toilet

No one can ever be a slave too long

To the mastery of loneliness

We end up in a different dimension

Surrendering to the Gods of shame

In pursuit of one little spark

That we like to call, love.

-Al