Wrap their acidic arms around me
In burning fumes of industry
Last night's cigarettes permeate
My hair, I drift quietly through
The stifling air, warm to the touch
How do all the little green things
And new spirits survive here?
Perhaps they learn to breathe in this world
This shred of dirty existence,
This shred of dirty existence,
This perfume-bleached, humid stillness
This solitude we have lined with
Screaming horns and crying children
Voices layering together
Close enough I can taste the wet and hot
Excess from the depths of your chest.
Close enough I can taste the wet and hot
Excess from the depths of your chest.
-A.K.-
No comments:
Post a Comment