you’ll sit there—
smoking your cigarette by the window,
blowing smoke out your lungs
that drifts back in through the window...

and as that icy chill sweeps
your dizzy body all over,
you put your cigarette out on a quarter
and use a dead plants *** as an ashtray.

how does your tongue
flutter as does a butterfly;
silent and wind carving—
yet unmistakable on the skyline...

a small scab on my
left pinkie—

it would heal by
the end of the night,

if i had only left it
alone.

you’ll never understand
the pure bliss that is
being loved by you

love is just
an infinite amount of
conversations

i will be in love
for as long as your smile
brings my head to a boil