Tuesday, July 29, 2014

Vices

When I exhale the smoke
I try to imagine 
that I am          releasing
parts of you that I've breathed 
in. I wish the scent didn't linger. 
There's nothing worse 
than the staleness in my hair 
to remind me that the calm was only temporary. The sweet taste 
on my lips is dismissed when 
I am sick for more
only to find you 
have become         aloof. 

No comments:

Post a Comment