Charles Malcolm


Red Apple (Cigarette #1) - Poem by Charles Malcolm

Suffocation, technically,
but I inhale that sweetest air
through her black cotton panties
and these white cotton filters
that I
slowly
pull aside
from time to time.

Let it breathe, baby.
The only reason left
to live.

Grey trumpets play long and low
about patience and pussy
and I smile
behind a curtain of smoke,
dying,
with all of the time in the world.

Topic(s) of this poem: smoking


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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, November 10, 2015

Poem Edited: Tuesday, November 10, 2015


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