IH ( / )



Again he raised his fingers to his mouth,
In which the cigarette was hanging carelessly,
The smoke out of it tickled the air,
the one which held the particles,
from his and my breathing commingled,
the philanderer light filled the space,
in which his torso and his face,
bloated like a benign lump,
again it afflicted my entire existence,
again my heart was hanging in the air,
the same air which bosomed the smoke in it,
the smoke which tickled the air we breathed…


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