Blistering Dusk

at night I lie on the top of a tall building near my home
and survey the blue bleeding into black
your miserable feet play desktop designs on the
cooling tar, and watching your face drift and posture
I think that often, night-time silhouettes grow dull
in the fading glow until stars begin to blister
your hair filters the red glow like the taillights of a Hearse
lighting our newfound rooftop world on fire
this world of big people and little people
where your footprints always seem too small
for your somber dance with humanity
I had always heard that you can meet people at
lighthouses, and when you stepped in front of
the glaring beam your blinded face sunk into
me like an anaesthetic after near-death at dawn
at times when we watch the stars at night
the gravity becomes unbearable and I wait for
your comforting voice in its soundness as you sonorously
quote long passages from Melville and Pynchon
you say my hands are cold as if you are
screaming at the sky and I have always thought
that you deliberately cause the nightmares and the echoes.
our reality and the fantasy of the stars are
bounded only by strange dreams that shake the
night apart and leave our voices empty until tomorrow