Come inside a smokey room. With a paper and pen. Incense and cigarettes, flowers and water. They all go together, too well.
This is our journey. And our love, will sail us through.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
A flickering view of my room
My feet pose coyly in the trash pool of human skin
My nails, my dirt, the rubbed fringes of feet, the sooty lines of ankles
The thickly oiled legs wavering between like a candle wick
And insects of tobacco whiskered over like antennae.