a melancholy ode to twilight

A blank stare hangs heavily in the air of
a dark room bathed by the light of the moon
but nothing is what it seems.

The red wine that's neither yours nor mine
makes the murmur of the heart sound more like an art
but nothing is what it seems.

Smoke from a midnight cigar mingles with the stars
and tickles my nose as you repose
but nothing is as it seems.

The sun comes up, and the starlight fades
and the room is disguised by the light of day
and everything is as it seems.