There are some moments
that are inherently,
and more often accidentally,
divine.

Moments like breathing out
smoke and sipping conversation
like smooth whiskey - aged
enough to even out
any mis-stepped syllables.

Seconds may slip away,
tangents infuse themselves
into the moment; dragging away
happiness in small draughts
but there is little to take away
from the exhilaration of small
pieces of contentment.

I like to think that my ghoulish behaviour
may be forgiven, if only to take hold
of those fragmentary moments
and claim them as my own.

In the end, we are all grasping
for moments to call small mercies.

a/n: I feel rusty - the kind of awkward where your shoulderblades feel too small for your skin - but I am getting there.