knuckles press down
onto counter hips between stovetop & a stack of ceramic my soles lift as his hand wraps around belly as my skirt gathers & spills into the sink condensation collects on the windows i press my lips against the glass pelvis hammers against the bench as i draw my tongue across the fog as he exits spits a wad of phlegm into tissue & finds the floor in front of the television
                                                                            young flies
from the wing passes to rooney to martial who kicks for goal it ricochets off the post his fist slams to the carpet sucks the end of a pipe till cheeks begin to hollow a swell of smoke funnels towards the screen ankles inside undies i try not to assault skin as i pull them draw water throw head back let the liquid gully our daughter sifts through a spread of mismatched shoes reminds me it is friday she locates the ones that light up pink & red it smells like apples she says puffing her chest as she inhales bringing two fingers to her lips

a strange strain of strawberries

                                                                                              sometimes a person smokes
because there is an addiction others smoke as a way of escaping feelings smoking may help to shield the emotional body from overwhelm many who smoke are also highly empathic the spirit becomes addicted in the non-material realm it does not yearn for smoke it yearns to fill the space

as                                                                                  a house

                                                                                                                    in the back seat
she finds the meat under eyes & pinches till red vein is exposed to air this is the colour of the marks in the bathroom she says this is the colour of the wind pulling the branches against the window bulb under pink lamp illuminating the shadow when i grow i want the biggest house with enough rooms for all the aunties colour each door a shade of red that night i dream of fire escaping my esophagus i dream my daughter in a field holding my dead body pushing a lit match down my throat everything that burns escapes through smoke when i take a hit i am emptying the vile i allowed mature inside

                                                                                                                      shisha tobacco
is mostly dried fruit it isn’t as harmful as cigarettes water filters the chemicals many of the toxins from cigarettes are released due to your blood pressure pulse rate & the temperature of your hands & feet have returned to normal remaining nicotine in your bloodstream has fallen damaged nerve endings have started to regrow & your sense of smell & taste are beginning to return blood oxygen level has increased &

                                                                                                             as an iota of shame

                                                                        i’ve stopped communicating with water
the multivitamin enters the gut by a finger i reach for lotion peel skirt towards ankles grin to the mirror with eyes half open except my soul lifts up & over the glass except i am in front of the television there is a man with an arm around my shoulders he permits the pipe to my lips except i am facing my daughter eyes flit to bear the smoke i puff quick & pass crane my neck to the right & squint in this light i can see a likeness i hear inshallah except i say it is friday but only half mean it