I Will Blow Blue Smoke


I will blow blue smoke
around the dimmed cornices of our 3 a.m. bedroom,
for you do not have the puff to announce your death.
Your breath stumbles and trips
from your wanting, lavender-blue lips.
Pushed up by overfilled ash-tray lungs.
Enough.
Cough your hopes up-
all your hopes and breathless aspirations.
Your liquid memories have flown from you.
Your dessicated, tenuous, dry
cigarette-paper-thin grip on life is strengthless.
If I could inject a viscous sentence
a gelatinised word or two to hold you together…
Lifeblood from my fingers to the keys to the page to your eyes to your heart
then woman I would.
But
       you are a wisp,

                                 a blue airless wisp.
 

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