Smoke and Cyanide

seeking self-destruction in others

Lovers and dancers search for a feeling even poetry cannot put into motion

Under the streetlight the mundane feels ethereal and eerie

A trap for the thrill seeker courtesy of Icarus himself

Still, adrenaline colors my cheeks as you press your cyanide lips to mine

Touch, soft and cruel on my cheek. 

Silently I beg you to bring those hands lower, to squeeze, to take my breath away

You never do

If I was listening, I could hear Prometheus and Pandora snickering among the fireflies

Another trick, a sleight of hand and you’re gone

I’m left with the remnants of the night in my eyes and shame in my hips

Guilt can come packaged in gold; souvenirs from the sinner

To be remembered, to be held, to disappear

I pray for many things

One day, may I catch your hand before the sleight

May you take me pass the puff of smoke

May our wings never fail, straight to the sun

Amen