Dmitri runs his fingers through dead leather strands

The threads limp and drained, down below the carpet stained

The same drowning red as the tips of finger print

Embedded on her scalp amidst her fallen beads of sweat,

Shattered fragments of shrill and glistening glass

Sparkling an illusion of diffused light and gravity

The foreground stained with Dmitri's darkness

Shifting the smell in the once perfumed room from Lily of the Valley

To a seeping sourness drenched in fleeting.

The streets outside are full of busy-bodies on the move

Dmitri walks slowly, lacking prior engagements for the night,

no dates for romance, no movies on big screens.

The only drama he encounters

falls from the sky in splintered sadness,

little droplets crying from the clouds.

The smell of women ushers him inside an entrance.

Dimly lit lights and low voices all around,

he sees a present wrapped in gold glitter

done up like a Christmas tree, tinsel about

her eyes and smile and throat. Begin the fantasy,

his hands curl around that dangling thing on her earlobe and it swings

She's cooing and begging and he lips purse in want as the flicker of his shadow

Grows on the wall behind her raspy drunk and ruined voice lets out a scream.

The earring falls to the ground with blood and grow more his shadow

to the vision upon the wall now, his ears all pointed and smile sharpened,

he reflects pointed and horned, as her neck bares the weight of his rancor.

The streets are full of aching beauty waiting for harvesting

Dmitri shakes the pain of having to hold off all his desire

He brushes away rogue from too-rosy cheeks

Makes tight the loosened skin of age

Breathes in factory fumes of nail polish and teeth whitener

When it's all over his changing shadow of man to beast

Flickers only for a few seconds at a time

Behind open flames, occasionally lit by his wife

In their high-rise, white-collar home.