Would it complete me somehow? Would I come full circle knowing that there was somewhere to go to, someone to meet halfway. That this destination is their destination too… and in the middle, we meet. The lamppost, the only witness, casting its light down on us. And we can no longer tell whether the cold suddenly becomes warm or rather we just become indifferent to the weather just at that moment… that moment staring, connecting, becoming complete, owning up to one.

holding you to the edge,
I craved you once before
inside my head–
filthy nicotine,
juices warm like caffeine–
I drink you to the
last drop before
the smoke, all
the vapors rise
’til I am dust again
scattered upon the shelf

-mr gahon 1/21/14


About mr gahon

poet... writer... culinarian... i like to work with food that appeals to the senses, write words that taste even better View all posts by mr gahon

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