Moderation.

fluorescence burns the path between Manhattan and the Bronx.
All these lights, you see...they burn me, too,
Breaking my heart, putting it back together.
Sloppy stitching.

Soon, I cannot think of the loneliness building up that beautiful skyline
Or the man in the car next to me
With the charred tabby cat in the passenger seat.

What I'd do for maybe one more kiss from you,
albeit uninspired and undeserving.
I suppose I have some time to make it so.
Come home quickly.

And these are my thoughts
as we roll along
at sixty-five,

cheek pressed to the chameleon window
acutely aware.