
| Morning Smoke by John F Taylor © The stench of the Wet ashtray Crashed through The Morning air as I Waited for you At the bus stop The couple next to me Are like wild dogs in Heat He pulls it out and Her scarlet lips part Easily Just as they had so many times Before now She easily accepts It's stiffness into her waiting Mouth She notices me watching and asks " Do you mind, I Ran out of matches." |
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| Morning Smoke |
| ©2005 by John F Taylor All rights reserved. |
