It is a winter night.
The Moon has a perfect halo around itself.
Rings form as the moonlight passes through thin clouds of ice crystals.
The stars and constellations hazed by the moonlight.
The Orion is about to set, and Canis Major follows suit.
I watch them pass, intoxicated, as I smoke down to the end.
My lips stained by the roach.
You ensure that your lips are immeasurably more intoxicating.
and that your love is enough.
I counter that this smoke may or may not destroy me.
but you definitely will.
My lungs may survive the fumes.
But my heart may not pull through your passionate but conditional love.
The euphoria I feel when you look into my eyes
makes my head dizzy, palms sweaty, and feet squirmy.
And the desolation I feel when you suddenly forget my existence,
useless like the cigarette butt that takes years to degrade, toxic as it goes.
So, Mi Amore, I would rather be in vain than in love.
For, I may preach polygamy, you practice it.
