i no longer have
clementine
the tangle-haired capricorn woman
made of fire and ice, skin like drunken showers,
when she smokes, its like she breathes in
dawn
for the first time.
no
cherry,
with soft skin like cream
off fresh milk.
when she smokes
dimples drown in her cheeks
and the smoke swims out
like dancers in the breeze.
no more
veronica,
soft voice, shaky like daisies in the wind,
spring grass,
when she smokes its a gesture of allure,
she invites a kiss with an
edge
     of a
          tobacco
                     scream.
je t'aime,
my wild creatures,
i will rage against the cold grip of authority
with the kicking feet
you know i have
until
we can rule over our little
smoldering town
and walk on
coals once
more.