Post-travel Blues

You must be taking another drag of cigarettes
more slow-burns between your teeth
and deep into my chest

I can imagine the lines of your face
the sour pout of your lips
to the wrinkles on your forehead
how false everything else
I know and remember

all the smoke out from your lungs
are extractions of my presence

Here, I am trying my best to mend
the coffee-bitter aftertaste
burnt and numb on my tongue
by your favorite brew

Miles after the end of the city highway,
I write my post-travel blues

By falling and diving onto my bed
by vomiting and swallowing my pride

Nobody can touch me
not even your cold will send me into shiver
not anymore


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