"it's probably a disgusting paradox."
as wine's sweetest madrigal made my heart shiver
just a little more than usual.
next to me, the girl with mascara trace on eyebags,
and passed me cigarette to inhale god's perfume
while nose-tapping his collarbone.
(you care about my lungcells more than your own?),
"you are not my father"
aware that wine's sweetest madrigal filled your arteries as well.
soon, i was teasing nicotine-fragments
on worn-out black of nailpolish,
as the fire in your lighter made the candle on my grave burn
just a little faster than usual.