On a balmy summer evening
the scent of jasmine’s in the air
and I sit on my balcony
counting stars – just killing time.
I breathe the night air
and an awesome sense of comfort
comes over me.
That taste of vanilla on my lips
such sweet essence
suddenly turns bitter in my mind
It was so long ago,
another time, another place,
a different moon, and peaceful nights
and you were there,
then you were gone.
Perhaps my fault,
no… no perhaps
I know it was.
Some nights, when I sit on my balcony,
I hear the sound of broken voices,
muddled bits of conversation;
so I close my eyes and dream of yesterday
when life was good
when we talked to each other,
and whispered little secrets,
and I wish I could hear them now.
Some nights I hear the neighbors argue.
Their voices are harsh
and I struggle to remember yesterday.
And the guy from-thirty six B
makes frequent visits to twenty-four A,
none of my business…
I’ve seen misery happen once or twice,
but last night,
hard to tell who was racing hell
and I don’t care.
Night time is cool in my balcony.
Let the neighbors sprinkle their dust
as they go along.
Let me just dream of vanilla
and pipe tobacco…
…my own dirt’s under control
neatly tucked inside tiny terracotta pots.