Piece Pipe
His eyes
are like lit ends of cigarettes,
cherry-sienna fire.
His lips, nicotine;
his tongue, hashish;
his cock, morphine.
His whole body is Cannabis Indica -
trim, yet lush with red hairs.
I roll him in rice-paper
lick crystals of cannabinol
from his every contour,
smoke his ripened buds,
lustfully filling my lungs,
nostrils with his incense.
Frankincense and myrrh!
Bitter am I
from waiting a lifetime
to sit by his fire.
1998 SilkCocoon
