if you were a cigarette i'd still
smoke you down until you burnt my fingers
and i would still absorb all of the dancing smoke
in my lungs and in the reflection in my eyes.

but i'm the cigarette you don't get

to light; it's all done with mirrors.

when you're sick of the sound
of me, black-eyed and bouncing
from silver-tongued censure
to foul-mouthed seduction

i don't even know what i'm looking
for these days but your words
are my bad habit. the slow burn pleasure
draws fire on your breath
while I blow hot and cold.

why is it every time you leave
i end up sifting through the vomit
that you spew when you try to speak my name?

because i am a rudely awakened disease
smothering old flames
like foam frothing at the mouth
of forgotten conversation.

i suck on the ultimate straw.
and you'll never remember the taste.

there's no question of giving up;
the secret of survival is secreted
in the filter, inhale day, exhale night
ardour to ashes, dawn to dust.

don't ask what happens to the detritus
of dreams. I sleep in unmade beds
and pray with hands unfolded.

exhale this love.

04/28/2009