my lighter ran out of gas
so I lit my cigarette on the stove.
I was saving this light for you
and your pesto pasta,
still in its ***.

it won't get wrapped up with the care
with which I wrap my nicotine
but it'll be wrapped
and waiting for you
like I always do
till I've no more rizlas
or love left to give
unreturned

and as my *** embers out
and I go to light another
tick tick tick
I know, you're worse for me
than this packaged love

A revivalist kissed
me once,
I nearly died.

Always a bridegroom
never a bride,
but these days
I don't have to hide
in doorways.

Strange ways and not the prison,
just a prism through which we
scatter light
might imprison me,
but not today
or tonight
for I have plans made
to trade
Rizlas for razors and
and
tweed suits for tasers.

A revivalist kissed
me once
and
I can't remember when.