Old Lines By Novemberfire11 Quiet lights pour their contradiction onto concrete better left black. Slivery specks of florescent moonshine Flood onto the cold sea of tar. While weeping strangers take comfort in the anonymity of a warm embrace. Fingers coil for the first and last time, While lips touch as they have done one hundred times before. Old lines and new faces intermingle, And fantasies are exactly what they mean. Sweet dreams are made and shattered in the desolate corners of humanity’s shame.