pillars of ash in the tray
smoke billows around the room
filters through light and winds
it's dirty ribbons through
my hair leaving it's acrid
smell behind, I'm too tired
to sleep, my eyelids are sandpaper
wearing down when I blink
the clock's dial a blur
light glimmers from a window
where the shade doesn't quite reach
the pane dusty, neglected, I blow out
a stream of smoke, breathe in again
it echoes in the indistinct corners
minutes before dawn
before trills of birdsong
I'm still alone, tender
skin burning in the bed
I can't be touched.

06/11/2002

Posted on 12/31/2002
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