the sweet smell of an indian summer’s
eve left on me cheek and hotness
of breath on the nape of my neck
remind me how memories most pleasing
will come reeling in to where i find
comfort in healing hands and curly words
tickling my insides and out
i fall so swiftly and with mind-numbing ease
back to one who holds hope so close at hand
and i buy that lottery ticket not because
i think i might actually win
but instead because that anticipation, that hope
feeds me
and i can almost taste
the first drag of the cigarette
the morning after


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