Sep 13

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.

Post-midnight smoke.
nothing's Amiss
Written by
nothing's Amiss  Philly 'burbs
(Philly 'burbs)   
  114
   Jack and Emeka Mokeme
Please log in to view and add comments on poems