City of ghosts
where the visitors are leaving, but leaving no marks,
dancing around these streets,
nourishing their empty stomachs with love.
This city is left hungry, yet not starving.
Suddenly there are no vistors at all;
like forgotten grave yards
somewhere inbetween the hills of empty lands
the street lamps flicker against the softly shinig moon.
A ghost city,
heart of mine,