Black Hole of Bombay Bomber

"The Devil Follows Me Night and Day
Because He Hates to Be Alone"

After hours he could be found
hunkered down in a back
booth, far away from picture
window prying eyes, house
lights turned almost all the way
down, a hard pack of butts
flipped open on the scarred
Formica table top, a pile of dead
and dying stubs amid the ashes
and spent matches of a new day's
morning as the man caresses
his beloved: the queen of midnights,
running his fingers down the cool
sides of her body, fondling the neck,
tasting the sweet juices of her essence,
her liquid dreams of oblivion, 90%
fool's proof, so much more than a
semi-precious gem, as valuable as
Sapphire, Bombay's Best, the queen
of dark continents, new world's explored
on the other side of delirium/ dreams,
a black sink hole closing around him
as all the beasts of the jungle converge
in his mind.