the letters look perfect
under the incandescent
lamp post.
and the concrete wall
on which we sit
smoothens the seam
of anonymity.
your eyes reflect
the glistening
i miss neither the
moon nor stars.
when i hold you
there is electricity–
but there is no warmth.
and as the lamplight
dims by day,
the harbor fades
into the smog.
your eyes begin to dull
and the wall becomes jagged.
i realize that the letters
were crooked all along.