B is for the bascule bridge between
A furling string of smoke wanders from the dark
gap flanked by your lips part. Desperate and ravenous,
I huff it all up trembling and hope the little subminuette
wave of cigarette steam flings me through, see-saws me in.
Disintegrates me with a gasp.
Sweep me up. Heap me with all
your lovely tales, like Once-upon-a-time the ivory swan
would fold into a lattice feathered fortress at dusk,
so softly would invite the brush of darkness and dream
close dreams of unfolding at dawn.