Throwback Thursday: Poetry Edition


Pressed at from all sides — where is my bag? — swinging around my hips I fold around you pushing down hands on your waist chaste moving then you turn and we laugh our nerves energy out.

Expelled from the crowd more bodies pushing through another haircut so the same finally freed the cloud of weed my face we found the smoke room.

Dizzy relieved — torn — we are spat into the black air which cares for sticky heated skin.

At last we’re past the torrid traffic houses flying by the cab pulls up released — relaxed — pyjamas.

Slumping down our limbs unwind tobacco — papers? — filters? — breathe the atmosphere no fear just friends and comfort.



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