Brassaï rooftops.

New year, so close I can taste it—

I wanted to spend it with you, 
and you, me, likewise, funnily,
awkwardly—

new night skies, filled with
effervescent lights, above new lives,
then dark, and deep

like Brassaï rooftops.

I’m not even sure what love is,
nor when it comes, creeps,
but thought it was you—

well-wishing strangers, passing by
with polite or drunken cries;
a kiss, right on time,

so careless, smiles, before the peril.