we smoked that night,
cigarettes after cigarettes.
bought from an old man down the street.
on your roof, with distant lights
eventually fading into darker distances.
then came the breeze,
and that is when i realised
that you're no less than a cigarette,
your love no less than nicotine.
because your love came in puffs,
ruling my lungs ; but i know
that sadness is appealing sometimes, and
so i let it be.
i exhaled, and it's all gone.
lost into the thin air, with the breeze
calming me for just five minutes.
whilst I craved more. of you. of smoke.
how fleeting is your love?
that it flies away with the wind?
we smoked just enough
so that we were poets
just for one night.
we drank that night,
bottles after bottles.
bought from that same old man down the street.
in the woods, just behind your house.
unaware that nocturnal existed,
unaware that fear existed.
was the alcohol speaking, or were we?
we cursed the stars, we cursed Time.
"it is not mistaken.
some stars align in some specific time
and we love the right person,
in the right way,
but in the wrong time," i had said.
sadness is appealing, you agreed then.
is this the world? or is this the fantasy?
or do the coloured grapes stored in the expensive bottles
hold pathways to the horizon
in between fiction and reality?
we sat there in the woods,
clothed - yet naked. too drunk.
our bodies aching while i saw you fall asleep
beneath the stars.
the trees were there that night seeing upon us
as we drank. so they hold proof
of how we drank - just enough
to fall in love all over again
at least for a night.