Max Lorber

pulling air deep into our lungs

listening to the sounds of our city

a comfortable silence in the

space between us

you light a cigarette

a silver nebula caught in the moonlight

drifting to a ceiling fan

chop chop chopping above us.

you pass the cigarette

the moment stretches.

I exhale

the cloud is an acrobat.

you look over

sticky brown sugar eyes stuck on me

and I have nothing to say.