I see that cigarette
dangling from his lips
And all I wish
is to put my lips upon his
and fill him with all my love
so much of it
that he doesn’t crave nicotine anymore.
To touch his forehead
and ease his pain
will he then crave me instead?
to grow flowers in his smoke-filled lungs
and coal-black heart
to show him he is indeed a work of art
Would he want Mona Lisa smeared in tar?
It is he smokes
But it is I who chokes
It is the cigarette that burns
but I who turns
to ash

May be if I inject enough love in his bloodstream
It will wash down the nicotine
and I will be the one reigning queen
Oh his soul, and mind
and he will be mine
to soothe
to tranquilize
to kill…


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