I have a chaise-longue beside my window
sitting on it, I rule the midnight city.
The stars and the whores,
the occasional dogs barking into nights
-the pavement dwellers gazing onto the the sky,
while they embrace their consorts-the night
tiptoes down the stairs.
The faith swerves in the room,
shuddering in the hope of a rape-
a possible penetration and
birth of a new life-a paradigm
of desire, hope and to be born again
into a night of stars which sent the
angels of light to touch and see
the man on the chair.
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