The match you struck
leaves its sulfur
like slept on sheets
retain outline
of lovers
who before morning must rise
shake off their reverie and hope
of life containing pleasure and warmth
submerging in cold water
become once again closed faced
workers in suckled world
with cast heads staring at concrete floor
whilst cats above
on roof tops
cry to one another
sounding much like
ourselves if we were to
just
let it out