On getting in. (#17)

Prompt: use at least three of the five senses (touch, taste, sight)

A stranger gave me the gift of smoke, blown cooly into my ear.
Like Piquet’s ‘Bandit,’ reeking of shiny s&m patent leather.
Through the wires I could feel it snaking, shivering its way into my cochlea.
She read me my poem and it tasted luscious in her mouth
Hovering over each word with delicacy, a translucent slice of verbiage
on the back of her palate.
I stand, provocative, in the shadows, the gift of being blue
as night falls over my windows and closes my eyes.
I remember the last time I was locked out.
The world was cold.
There was a shift this time, an unlocking of doors,
And the planet aligned and welcomed me back in.


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