poetry

Cotton Mouth.

white smoke

 

I like a blank silence
and that I get too high
to hear words flare out—
I fog up the windows
because I don’t want
angry spittle in my eye.

It’s okay to be lonely
and twist myself away
from nagging hands—
there’s no tension
in a bouquet of vapors,
just a softly unfocused smile.

© Nancy Botta, 2018

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