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.

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John W. McEwers

John W. McEwers

Nova Scotia, Halifax
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