Sunday, 9 June 2013

roll-up boy


Your gloriously thick dark eyebrows, your chapped dry lips in most seasons except spring, your crooked eye that winks a second before the other, the way you tap the ash off your cigarette so effortlessly, the way you dance to Human League. It’s enough to keep me coming back.

So I do. Each time I see you, you are a little more perfected the way my mind wants you. Cuban cigars, Pall Mall cigarettes, roll ups. I got you down to roll-ups. Cigars made me too chesty, cigarettes made you smoke more than I wanted you too, roll-ups were cool and the least harmful. Social smoking only.

“don’t, don’t you want me? you know I don’t believe you when you say that you don’t need me”

“ I was working as a waitress in a cocktail bar”

I defined you with a song. I created you with a song. With a word and a feeling. I created you therefore you do not exist my sir.  

 

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