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  • Writer's pictureCirce


Illustration Courtesy: Pin by Loulou Delarosbel on BW & Aged Faces

The other day

I went up in smoke

I had stuck my butt onto your lips

To make you suck long and deep

In pleasure

And burn

I had raced through you

Mingling in your breath

I had raced on to the lungs

I had realised then that

A lung wasn't a heart.

And between the two,

I didn't want to inhabit burnt sponges of loss

Or pores and patches of black despair

I wanted something much redder

Something more like... life

More alive

More vital

More prone to pain

More pulsating

Figuratively speaking.

I was about to end

Flickers of embers

Danced in me

Scalded with your kiss

You had finally let me in

I was about to flutter throughout

The insides of you

Looking for clues

To understand

Asinine cruelties

To uncover barbarity

Classic to you

Like smooth designer wear

Your favourite brand of embedded vile

Flaunted finesse

Mall material

All glimmer and dazzle

I had envied


But now

I was inside the barren of you

Weaving in and out of your intended

Burn of breath

I lost Envy on the way out

Even forgot to hold her wrists

And help her back


She cut a sorry figure. I figured.

There in the mire

There in the maze

Of your filthy sponge

She started looking more like Pity

Pathetic. Panicky.

Unlike me

I am smoke remember

In the intermittent embers

You kiss to death




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