Runcible Spoon

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Life without cigarettes drags like slow mustard,

five years itching, except once in December 2014

when I was offered one during a televised

football game. I took that smoke like waiting for

fabric conditioner on my soul - the woman from

Bayswater, walking there to watch eye shadow

applied just like my therapy. We kissed in

Chinatown and she slept on my chest, I dare

not say that I had made love to another that morning.

This is an unusual moment, still I would pledge

my heart even with its yellow teeth, to that

beautiful form of woman, with her brilliantine soul,

the accent rich with its dancing cadence. They say

the electronic ones can kill you just the same.  

Dance for me again in your basement shoes.