I smoked the last cigarette,
in the red Marlboro pack,
of in-house body decay,
and black lung birth canal.
The whirling smoke,
reminded me,
of you,
a maelstrom of hazy sex,
and tsunami-flow hatred.
You were an astronaut,
making the lunar module mission,
to the translucent center,
of my rib-cage moon.
But all things burnout,
even your spaceship,
and my cigarette,
return to hasty ash.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I invite you to read my poem, Ashes Of Old Lovers, which I find mirrors some of the emotions you put forth. I enjoyed the read. PEACE