You’re sickeningly intoxicated
With your orange blossom smoke

that rises from the tip of your shrivelled down kif

It’s makes me gag, it makes me choke

the scent of calabrian bergamot,
it sits in the back of my throat

and yet the blanc musk that you leave behind

leaves me wanting more,
I chase wildly as I climb up the grape vine

I cringe at the despise, at the hypocrisy, that fills my mind with those blessed be

scents, and notes
of fruity floral dope