Джазовые Огни Ночного Города

The velvet curtain hangs just past the Stage. Blue smoke drifts through a yellowed paper Page. The glass sits empty by the wooden chair. A ghost of perfume lingers in the air. The clock is heavy, counting out the beat. Beyond the window, Rain upon the street. A melody that bends against the glass. Watching the lonely hours Slowly pass. The Final notes arrive with gentle grace. I search the corners for Missing face. The room is quiet as the candle dies. Under the weight Of charcoal evening Skies.