I miss those sweaty rooms
of summers past,
when smoke
and thick heat clogged my throat, and i was
begging for air.
my body’s motion
is not my own
no longer,
a part of the electron flow,
i am within the current of bodies,
twisting and turning
with the light pouring through cracking
lightbulbs
and the weeping ceiling,
crushing it’s atlas,
a beer can.
I miss them like missing the sweltering summer
warmth in dark winter,
like the first joint i ever smoked,
like the first time i felt another brush my lips
and enter my body.
longing for the pulse of music,
the taste of the rush of this danger dancing,
tightrope staggering
between falling apart and
falling through,
into bliss i submerge myself
happy smoke fills my lungs,
sweet poison drips from damp ceilings
damning the hold of another’s warmth
too close
to be safe.
