I burn **** between my lips.
one by one.
******* them down with skill.
Skull to lungs,
ashes to ashes.
I am the smoke of myself that
gathers deep inside
and prowls out, darkly
like faceless men at night
sunken in city pavement,
pacing towards desire.
And so the word saunters and spirals,
clouding upwards
from my red hot tongue.
I watch it as it leaves me.
I lick my lips of the sting,
and ash drips on my shoe.
I take a deeper breath.
and look ahead.
perhaps smiling,
perhaps darkly.
As it twists itself into nothingness,
sinking headlong,
like the private history that it is,
into the ignorant, pretty sky above.
The use of the word "***" here is, of course, meant to be a double-entendre. I swear I'm not British, nor do I have an affinity for cigarettes. ;-)
