Full moon Friday calls:
The promise of night
cloaks the travertine
and glass temples of man.
Silhouettes shape-shift
beyond streetlight glare
and gather in the shadows.
I am the seventh son;
dark ruler of alphabet city,
hungry in the lunar phase.
Satisfaction struts
in 4 inch heels
down Bleecker Street,
Chanel marinade
follows the footfall.
I watch with amber eye
and hold my tongue
behind eager teeth.
Tonight she will be my love,
and I will finally sleep--
SMG
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