By Finn Flood
Catching smoke with
a pitchfork in the wind.
For love, you’d need to get me pretty
loaded on gin.
The rain
falls
fast on the cigarette ashes,
I stare at the misty horizon
and it phases away.
I look to the side
and the sterling black dissipates to her gray.
Her rolling sheets crisp. New before she
and strikes the tinderbox.
lays the loose tobacco
A smile and glance hiding her mysteries in double locks. A
darker
side
yet
to
be
seen,
but before then, she gleams.