The fog sits on the shadowy, high-rise rooftops
Wet and weighty, ominous,
As if wiping a damp brush over everything exposed to the night.
The sun escaped the eve's oppression hours prior.
Every time I inhale, it leaves a saccharine, dank film on my tongue.
As I reach the building, I can feel the night's weight on me.
I light up the button for the tenth floor
I enter the steel capsule to head skyward.
As the door closes, the only thing in the air is the smell of you.
The scent is sweet and onerous.
I know you're waiting.
But not for me.
The scent torments me
As if it knew to be patient
And linger
Like the fog out the window,
Lying in wait because a victim, a sacrifice has been selected.
The metal cage bellows it's arrival. Tenth floor.
As I exit, I indulge in the stank of hallway cigarettes
For a silent moment before plunging through the door,
Taking in the grey blanket that hangs beyond the glass.
I'm full of the knowing that you're there
And that you're waiting,
But not for me.
T
