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brooklyn
Poems
Aug 2019
counting to ten
one cigarette in your hand
held between *******
passed between three friends
four puffs of smoke
a high five for my first drag
six days of detention
seven kisses with the sharp taste
of the eight smokes you've already had
and nine sweet nothings that smell like tar
ten bruises in the shape of your fingerprints
and i've lost count
Written by
brooklyn
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128
Bogdan Dragos
and
Rogues Gallery
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