Impersonator of high society.
Perfect standing miserable society.
Mimicking the awestruck eyes in the mirror.
Meditating over curves, studying crevices
tracing muscles of your being.
Putting focus on where your cigarette will land
Index and second?
Or
Thumb and first?
Deciding finally you fixate your eyes
on the things that make or break you.
The carved, aged fingers that
extend to stranger.
Or
clench in heat of enemy.
Sweet scarlet flame reveals an overjoyed face
for only a moment before
being kidnapped by twilight.
Swallowing your once stunning shape
to travel on the back of the bitter wind.