Acidic orange and
purple.
Dawn rouses the town like
a paramour beside her lover.
From the power plant,

steam puffs.
A plume soon buried
in the colors of the morning sun.

For every steam billow,
a coal plant's smoke
stains the evening.

I want to believe we wisp in the air
like steam in the sun.
Yet a rattling bottle and
her tears
tell me otherwise.

I'm an addict
throwing my sins at
dead light.
Smoke
stains my hands.