Brush Off

You are a cigarette, a few moments of stolen pleasure
Inside a prison, a warm glow in the grey
Expanse, a beacon

But you are not the key

You are the last drops of a drink
Drunk alone in the dust,
A homeward road on a hot day

But you are not the sea

You are a fire, a gathering of friends in winter
Songs sung and reminiscence,
The doors shuttered against the cold

But you are not the sun

You are the first light and the second chance
The third day and the forth bridge,
The fifth element and the sixth sense

But no, my dear
You are not the one.