With a sharp snick, the flame opens against his thumb;
The cold stone of the pipe, a judge’s mallet
Waits between his lips,
And I imagine sparks
Flying like hot pepper to his throat, and down,
Down to where he speaks, to where he sighs.
His mouth is paper lace on mine.
I breathe in the bittersweet ashes
Like a promise to obey,
And the weight of these wings on the blades of my shoulders
Disappears

She gave me a drink like raspberries
crumbling into poison;
I swallowed it, I asked for more.
The ***** made me light,
made my limbs fluid,
my lips free,
my heart thunder.

I leaned close.
I breathed smoke into his mouth;
silver coils of nicotine between us,
And then nothing—just his hand
at the back of my neck
and the warmth of two mouths
moving against one another,
nothing between us.