I can smell the cigarettes. I haven't smoked in days But I can smell the cigarettes in between your legs.
I can taste the coke cut up, running down my throat. I can smell the cigarettes, even with no smoke.
I can see an image of a woman lying bare I can see the ink she's buried underneath her hair
***** becomes public when we let ourselves believe that smoking isn't bad for you. that you will never leave.
if I could capture you and me if I could capture what you see if I could capture the capturing
I'd capture-keep, the long legs/ black hair/ smoke suspended in the air
a cat with whiskers wiser than/ the man who's broken eggs again
the shells that feed the mystery because WHO THE **** COOKS EGGS AT MIDNIGHT and I swear to god if one more person looks at me seductively I'll rip apart the leather jackets jean vests studded flannels studded chests
because life just never seems as good/ as retrospectively.
as looking back on someone else's/ frozen memories.
and the worst-best part of everything is when it seems so real, that you could become one of them if only you could feel.
(I wrote this inspired by my dear friend's photography work) http://www.zhamakfotography.com/