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I can smell the cigarettes.
I haven't smoked in days
But I can smell the cigarettes
in between your legs.

I can taste the coke cut up,
running down my throat.
I can smell the cigarettes,
even with no smoke.


I can see an image of
a woman lying bare
I can see the ink she's buried
underneath her hair

pubic becomes public when
we let ourselves believe
that smoking isn't bad for you.
that you will never leave.

if I could capture
you
and me
if I could capture
what
you see
if I could capture
the
capturing

I'd capture-keep,
the
long legs/
black hair/
smoke suspended in the air

a cat with whiskers wiser than/
the man who's broken eggs again

the shells that feed the mystery
because WHO THE FUCK COOKS EGGS AT MIDNIGHT
and I swear to god if one more person looks at me seductively
I'll rip apart the
leather jackets
jean vests
studded flannels
studded chests

because life just never seems as good/
as retrospectively.

as looking back on someone else's/
frozen memories.

and the worst-best part of everything
is when it seems so real,
that you could become one of them
if only you could feel.