Lightening hopscotches
across a morose sky
and smoke rings
crash like the surf
against the ceiling
above my bed,
my only company.
I think of the day
and the wicked angels
smile,
and carefree way
that she carries
herself,
the subtle curve
of her form.
I smile at the thought
of her,
laugh aloud at
the things she has
said.
I am jealous of
her boon companions:
Disappointment, Sadness.
Happy though that
they are common friends.
A storm blows in
and I crush out a smoke,
and lightening strikes again.
