Prisoners of Love

I remember our first drink together. I had brought you home to rejoice my first salary, picking on our way, a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. Driving the corkscrew spiral to its very last thread, I had popped the wine open, carefully pouring into glasses that sat light-filled on the table. How then you held one by its narrow stem, your white thighs carelessly crossed over my knees on the sofa and raised to your...

Smoker's Phenomenon

It's a smoker's phenomenon perhaps, to always hold the last puff a tad longer. Letting the fumes spiral and widen inside like ripples across a wind shaken lake, inflating their chest to a maxima, until it aches to sink back and then grudgingly stubbing the fire out against a tin ashtray; the toxic gas departing through lips and purring from nostrils quietly, in what seems to be a dreaded exhale. Whether the last drag is the sweetest or...