Sunday, December 28, 2014


Once you press it against your nose
You can never let go,
It haunts you, like a thousand galloping mares
Brisk, its vapor rubs onto your senses – a wake from begotten dreams.
Hot, beneath the fingers
It is a world of its own
Drink me, or puff over my head- I ask only for your breath
The grounds, grounding you onto the chair

Or the bus
Drink me,I will make the world less hasty
drink me- I am the answer to last night's problem
and the paging pain above your neck. 

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