i want coat hooks hung with cloaks,
mirrors dusted with lines of coke;
bedsheets tangled in moonlight,
and cigarettes, stale, burning white–
glasses we drained and broke.
i want clothes that smell of smoke,
a joint with a single toke
left in it, its promise bright.
this beauty, this madness will choke
and blind us; these words we spoke
will guide us in lieu of sight–
bright, white-winged in the night,
i want to fly, with music in our throats.