Under the moonlight,
the river lamps as if a lantern.
Those that whiskeyed a bad swallow
are still coughing in the distance.

The empire is wheeled on corruption,
but I’m too concerned with pale delights
and how her curves alike exclamation points,
embellish her beauty.

Sure I care, but revolution
is another personality all together
and if you ask me; she’s the tits,
so I don’t mind walking in the math
of small steps for love.

Of course, when I hear the cries
coming from castle isolation,
I feel the tightrope grow slender
as the blues epiphany in the old language;
nothing drowns the banquet of sorrows in this world.

Tonight it’s quiet.
The Jade on her wrist gleams,
the cinnamon in my cigarette glimmers,
the breeze blows through our hair
as if concubines dressed in the finest silks.

And when we kiss, words are useless.