Pome

Pieces of me escape like strips of smoke,
Rising in the orange glow of late, damp air,
Trapped between existence and the cold expanse of night.
My thoughts drift to the distance.

Given to time and gusts of no control.
Struggling to survive, like the last flame
Gasping for air. A cornered shaft of light suffocated by love,
Or something which sounds like love.

Suffocated by a vacuum.

Drowning in thin air.