in the future i’d be watching you smoke
waving your smoke away
with cleaver hands
breakfast would come
we’d slice cucumbers in the wet-
snake leather kitchen
rectangular blade neatly fit
the yolk in the sandwich a little drippy
warm & familiar
the electric stampede of spiders’ feet
never did the future weave
faint spiderweb strands
(originally published in Sobotka Literary Magazine – Issue #3)
Never touched her mouth.
Abandoned in the green room.
Leads me back to a twilight daze
when winding up the knowledge
would propel you into a frenzy
without ever touching lips.
I smoke her fingertip into
dark clouds and remember
the accumulating snow
which falls, now, as tiny ashes.
(originally published in Oatmeal Magazine – Issue #8, April 2015)
my mouth & cigarette smoke
like chewed lipstick.
faces clung with intertwined tongue
sweat, turtle. the lotioned hand.
grip now. hold.
(originally published in Vine Leaves Literary Journal – Issue #14)