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)
