The stars were hung alight that night,
the breeze so cool and crisp,
my fingers wrapped around the rail
as the waitress grabbed her tip.
The street was still, its pavement bare
as i watched it far below,
my footing still and silent yet,
as I sipped my new Bordeaux.
I climbed upon the iron cast,
my shoes just barely scuffed,
my mind a bitter, sordid mess,
then calling on my bluff.
I laughed aloud to bitter wind,
the snow upon my cheek,
when then my footing lost its ground,
my end so mild and meek.