Engines of trucks whizz by.
Silver beads drain from white puffs above,
Plashing softly against metal windowsills.
White smoke flees from factories,
And honks of cars,
Stuck in the disarray of traffic,
Suffuse the air:
“Music to my ears,” I say.

Lifeless grasses absorb polluted rainwater
And spit it back out into the soil.
Boots trek through puddles,
Leaving gloom in their trails.
Rusty gates swing dangerously—
Back, forth, and back again—
And threaten the world with their tetanus and monstrosity.

Dim streetlamps peek through the haze with their orange fingers
And daub droplets of mist with glowing paint.
Tires stain streets with black tar
And saturate the air with scalding scents.
Telephone poles lean slightly in the night
And haunt the windows of all adjacent.

Spines crack, and depression imbues working minds,
Penetrated by the blues.
Asphalt depressions fill with rainwater
And brim over
Like a bucket of impurity,
Decanting kind souls.

Windows fog up
With mist smeared across their glass panes,
And all the while,
Shutters scream and cry in the gale,
Assailed by winds.

In spite of this world, we still have each other.
I still love you.
Do you feel similarly about me?