Afterglow: Three Poem by John W. McEwers
Afterglow: Three
Smoke circles the ceiling fan
broken by the currents of air swirling
and descends back to us
two hot bodies and a perfect circle
of sweat stains, and we curl sideways
dropp ash to the carpet,
stub out cigarette butts
and fall awake.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Topic(s) of this poem: sideways
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8/28/2026 1:59:49 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
