he and i, smoked on the balcony
in our underwear, ducking out of
site, throwing
flowers, long stemmed unkempt dusty with
perfume flowers
over the edge, flicking our small brown wrists
blossoms falling head over foot,
twirling languidly in the
evening breath, landing at the feet
of the passers by
our foreheads pressed together
hands pressed together
dusty
with perfume