In the Vape Shop For R. R
Exhalations of vapour savour the honey-twist tang of this longing; lemon-scented, you sell cheap ecstasies by the dozen, pricing the violets of snakes’ eggs laid in the keys of laptops and yet the profits come slow as the roll of my eyes, when it’s like this: everything saccharine, a slot machine remainder of golden auroras, emanations of waste, the ice cream kiss of vacuous promise, , , i say come closer to death, its silken breath that slides like silver and speaks through comas of sweetness. With holy macaroon and pastel-hued beauty, I blow through my teeth your blondness of sorrow. Now I can smoke my nostalgia the way Keith Richards snorted his daddy’s ashes and it’s cool as hell in blue-hued billows, the nicotine treat latticing apples in my brain with the prettying. The flesh curls and coruscates; they call it breathing. /Maria Sledmere
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