For you

The call, the hunger.

Beaconing, teasing, wrapping around my senses

Insidiously filling my consciousness.

An arm's length away.

She is beaconing.

The smell, filling my mind with vapours of anticipation.

Sweet smokiness of golden generations.

Like the barrel of a oaken gun.

Set to fire a sweet bullet of oblivion into my soul.

The sweetest burn of all.

like coals of the divine comedy

Falling to the pit of my stomach.

Liquid embers in my bloodstream

exploding through my brain

burning my veins

boiling my blood

sending waves of sweet sweet oblivion

into my skull

until I slow down

until I calm down

until I forget

until everything is still.

The jack hammers of morning can wait.

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Feb 25, 2010