I grab a
cigarette, I look at it, I toss it—running back. I spark a lighter, I inhale
tobacco, like always a slave.
I trek fields,
rain topples, the sugarcane is drowning.
trying to resist,
it keeps tugging, a squirrel on my windowpane.
to touch on love, I
can’t say what it is, I know infatuation, pash, intense desire. I know AM tension,
caloric intake, a nauseated exhaustion. watching skies, feeling like a phoenix,
needing solace to resurrect—beauty in her gait, delicate fingers, we imagine so
much in a moment.
what sustains it?
a mother just made
breakfast. kids are loud, smiling, getting ready for school. father is
cheerful.
we call it love.
it seems like
mental properties, leading or following example, an inner siren, a good
feeling, sipping Cognac with the wife. trying to unwind, eating ice cream, late
night affection.
when money is
good. good moods appear, if to address an inner chamber—the sun might get
brighter.
so much a winner,
so much a feeling, indebted to emotion.
I grab a
cigarette, I look at it, I toss it—running back. I spark a lighter, I inhale
tobacco, like always a slave.
the filthy good
luck, knowing when to turn away, at a miracle to have come so far.
never forgetting
palms screaming love—or suffering feeling delicate—those hands to his sanity.
many bags of
groceries, many years of paying bills, many nights going into passion.
I grab a
cigarette, I look at it, I toss it—running back. I spark a lighter, I inhale
tobacco, like always a slave!
