I love the sound
of fresh papers
as they come
crinkling and
crackling out of
the package,
the aroma
of citrus and earth,
sweet smelling grass,
the sensation
of stickiness,
dulled spikes
of fresh stems,
the sight
of red orange flames
lapping up
crisp white paper,
of translucent
gray smoke
whisping
out of the small
opening of a pipe's mouthpiece,
the taste
of wisdom, sage, and ash,
vaporizing my insides,
filling my lungs
and brain
full of poetic fumes;
I love to break
you
down,
roll you up,
set you ablaze,
and
inhale
you,
vaporizing my insides,
filling my heart
and brain
full of poetic fumes.
I love to
get
high
off you;
I don't want
to
ever
get
clean.
Let's
roll
another.
