Just another love poem

Next to Nabokov’s “Lolita”
I have cigarettes on my desk,
I inherited my dad’s favorite brand
back in the eighties,
sometimes it is on billboards
with a cup of coffee
like everyone in my hood.
They are put in
red and white
little boxes,
sober letters
to say
Here is the scent of the field
under a sun of May,
Burning, in the open throat of your lover
bringing tears
hefty heads
and failing lungs,
a cloud of love
crushing on the walls.


Thilleli G.


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