Drainpipes stretch
And snap back.
Click. Walk.
With point toed
Black leather boots.
Smoke, jaded
An orange glow
And gray smoke,
Not caring,
From in between
Pale, parted lips.
Exquisitely unimpressed,
Lean back, bored
With the acceptance
Of one who listens to
Too much Cold War Kids.
How depressing.
The only warmth
In the comfort of pockets.
The only one,
Yet a whole street of them
Strolling into the night
Yellow lights
Concrete labyrinth
Drainpipes stretching
And snapping back.
Click. Walk.
Point toed
Leather boots.
