smoking
Glimpse
behind silk curtains
like milk, a woman
lighting a cigarette
wrapping limbs in
blue gauze, coughing across
the divide–
of glass lives
separating–
The amber bud.
A beacon in long nights
Between street lights
And red hands, shaking
With cold, wrapped up mouths
and the fire flies all gone
Home, emigrated
Back to
Water, we sip
from the same cup
at 4 am dawn bodies
burning drugged-up
fucked-up high on high
rise sex and sleep deprivation
lean back in the quiet kitchen
a hand of companionship, on the
window ledge, Maryhill
and hell beyond -
offer it me
habibti,
quietly
and already
lit.
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