smoking feat

as teenage hellions
in suburban underworlds
fraught with backdoor dealings
handshake heists
and hushed-up divorces
perhaps we should have wished for wings–

but we never wanted for a heaven
or for angels’ breath
so long as our own frosted the night sky
with carbon monoxide crystals
in the shape of control and cancer sticks;

we needed no magic but the cherry glow,
no music but whispered secrets and
no heaven but the lot of us,
up on the roofs together in summer night

we were happy, i believed then

and i still do

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