Awake at night

The open window sending waves of ice across my features

Sometimes dreaming, sometimes staring over at the light pollution

I cannot see the stars but I know where they belong.

My fingers trace the outlines on the pillow

Inhaling every scent spilled long before I'd been here.

The sheets are missing pages

The papers pinned to streetlamps

With a couple hundred staples penetrating the rotten wood.

The city lights blast curtains and reflections

Pieces of my hair gold in the moonlight

Whispers sending chills across my spine

Your hands are warm, your hands are warm.

Gases leaking from the pipe behind the wheels

Atop the nearest house an angel screams

Too high a pitch for comprehension

It sounds like heaven to my ears.