smoking

i live at the end
vanishing in the bed of a wine glass,
a stuck-stain that only dissolves in hot water.
l et  t he  d a rk  o ne  i n,
& maybe your wet fingerprint can rouse me again.
i breathe deep when i’m alone because it’s the only time that i remember i’m alive. i’m here. where are you?
i want a cigarette w/ hot chamomile. it’s 11:59pm & you had a fireplace that night, naked on a floor. the miracle of sleep skips my window, no wonder. the undead mouth of my house is ice-teethed, damp skin emerging from the tub steams. it’s sharp, the air, comforting.
i want the wild-hunt smoke in my throat; the drifting dust in my head, the slit feline focus on the void that softens into ridiculed slumber. the sex/bonfire scent in my hair. dreams with no fingers; no remorse.
i want the way that it made the cold feel like part of my skin. how icy, small, spidery my hand crawls in the winter-white outside reaching thru the firmament of a ripped screen in a tiny kitchen into the starry night, hey, nice apartment. empty as my swallowed eyes.
i lived there when i could smoke.
me & van gogh & christmas eve.
i was alone then, & now
i live at the end
vanishing in the bed of a wine glass,
a stuck-stain that only dissolves with a tongue that can’t reach it.
i breathe deep when i’m alone because it’s the only time that i remember i’m alive. am i still here? are  y o u?
i want to remember what it’s like to love you, to obsess, when i’m at my best.
but love leaves like seasons.
& now i’m the tear in the veil.
the venom cup of breastmilk that waits at the last table.
of all, always ending in the end.
burn me when i die. put me in a dry merlot.
drink my ashes & tell me you’re my grave.
i live at the end
vanishing in the bed of a wine glass.


words = samantha lucero 2016 ©
image = not mine.

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16 thoughts on “smoking

  1. I loved this. Amazing rhythm and soulful, visceral, spiritual almost… I’ve thought many times… where are you? Powerful and painful.

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