smoking in sloane

hold a hand too tight and it will break
glass is too fragile- breathe and
shards will scintillate ash, haze and memory
into the milieu


time is the longest distance that stands between
reality and dream and the
punishment is faithfulness to these
broken stars on the ground


bitter air cracks the skin, but
handless arms can still grip onto what isn't there any more.
warm purple candlelight deviates
from these cruel fragments.


blow out this light that is impossible to
extinguish and so,
farewell.

pack your bags

all these lights
they mean nothing when the
wind so easily changes your
mind.

until you leave, the
taste of lemon will
stay on your lips
with his name.