Seven and a Half Minutes

 

I light another,
even as his brother
still smoulders in the crystal graveyard
    where pacifiers are crushed after cremation.

Grey ash elongates,
masks amber embers
stoked by ruby lips
pursed perfectly 'round the tip.

Inhale the disease,
surrender to the slavemaster,
for stress dissipates like smoke
    with each new kiss.

I am seven and a half minutes closer to death.

 

(c)2008 Lucie Raposo - All rights reserved (republished 2022)