The sun slides down
through the the empty streets.
Too cold and dark to read the poets.
Inside the temples, barely a sound.
Only a single mantra left,
to battle the shade.
 
Easy then, to be pulled in
by a withered branch.
Lost in Autumn moonlight,
and almost out of life.
But still dark desires wrapped in leather.
 
My hope, a woman with the sun
inside her, and a bed for love.
In a place that says,
“People Wanted”.
Freaks and lovers, and all.
And kisses, that taste of
passion – and a sure beginning.