Today, tonight

Today I am stuck with the thought that the moon is an oatmeal cookie--a crossroad between sin and pleasure--convincing the most desperate that there's balance, a chance to make ends meet, indeed, tonight. A bite shall wash down dinner, a salted egg of gold, touched by dreamers who wished for cheese when they lie down and rest to pray on plastic ornaments which glows with a fake accent. Where crumbs take over the endless sky but without an intention to lead a vagabond home nor be pieces that can reform a broken justice, long-forgotten.

Tonight is an effervescence made to sting the eye with a drop of saliva as thick as the narcissism escaping a model's gap. Tonight is everything, but tonight.