what he didn't say
i enjoy smoking
he said
it’s the heat and escape
that lets you know you’re alive
like the heat of breath
on a summer night
tracing my collarbone a prison
searchlight… a tether of awareness
a lingering reminder of the other
within a dark world of ecstacy
Labels: poem
1 Comments:
okay. that is hot. i haven't had a cigarette for months, but my fingers are itching for one now.
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