[diary entry: 18.1.17]

we have lain here

since 4:18 this afternoon,

kissing filthy slow and

bourbon rich.

you are all

warm shadows, tired haikus,

smoke that does not

escape the window.

i am nothing at all

but the grip of your hands

on my shoulders

and red eyelids.

we have lain here

and let the campfire die,

blowing nicotine into

each other's mouths.

we have lain here

with the moon rising

at our backs, and

slept furiously.