There’s something so sweet
in the way you cradle
your cigarettes, the moon’s face,
bright, opaque, as it strays
behind you, not quite full,
a tilted, gilded halo.
Your fingers, long and steady,
ash setting into the tips
of your calloused skin
as I fall in love with the way
you mumble, lips thin
and eyes wide,
laying down these pipe dreams
so I stumble in
and I can already tell
I’m a goner,
I want to be between your teeth.
You’re tonguing my filter
each time we meet,
and I’ll stain your insides,
sure, but these bodies
are composed of dust,
I’ve heard. Return
to damp Earth,
someday, She must miss you,
on nights like these,
incinerate me, cardboard
crust and sinew,
and rust,
and I’ll burn for you
while we still crave heat.
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 12:41 AM UTC
There’s something so sweet
in the way you cradle
your cigarettes, the moon’s face,
bright, opaque, as it strays
behind you, not quite full,
a tilted, gilded halo.
Your fingers, long and steady,
ash setting into the tips
of your calloused skin
as I fall in love with the way
you mumble, lips thin
and eyes wide,
laying down these pipe dreams
so I stumble in
and I can already tell
I’m a goner,
I want to be between your teeth.
You’re tonguing my filter
each time we meet,
and I’ll stain your insides,
sure, but these bodies
are composed of dust,
I’ve heard. Return
to damp Earth,
someday, She must miss you,
on nights like these,
incinerate me, cardboard
crust and sinew,
and rust,
and I’ll burn for you
while we still crave heat.
