Sep 2017
Down my spine and up my fingers,
Wet tobacco sweats and lingers.
Small infernos in my chest,
Stoking fire with every breath.
Both fickle days and longing nights,
Butane flame my iris lights.
Wet tobacco sweats and lingers.
Small infernos in my chest,
Stoking fire with every breath.
Both fickle days and longing nights,
Butane flame my iris lights.
Post-midnight smoke.
