It’s been ten years or more since last I smoked
And yet inside my lungs the air remains
Of lovers past refuted; I am choked
By tar-like love for I cannot abstain
From chasing down their mem’ries in a dream.
Addicted to the substance of their loss
Like fumes that always tend to drift upstream,
Upon the waves of chaos I am tossed
And spit back, coughing, on a newer shore
Where I don’t have to work so hard to breathe.
And yet, I still anticipate a war
Of furies: unsheathed weapons, clenchéd teeth.
You flick the flint wheel quick and set a flame
As if incineration is your aim.