Sweet Hallowed Nights
At sunset, the boulevard descends into a translucent silhouette.
Dim streets, the sinners roam in search of play.
The dark hour is a lonely one, and within it lies the pretense of despair and self-inflicted anguish;
Like the stamina of a black rose, the night is enveloped by a smooth calm that so delicately,
yet hauntingly, embellishes hope in the tourney of wills.
Desire is biting into a sweet, luscious apple;
Your appetite is tended, but only in the slightest of ways.
The twinkle of stars in the crepuscular plane of space hovers above:
like sugar, the saccharine sensation, though ephemeral, is euphoric;
And until dawn leaves you breathless.
By Mensur Gjonbalaj
April 19, 2015