There is the smell of burnt grass.
Only hope that soon it will pass,
Sparking air will cease to fizz.
People always make stupid faces before the kiss.
Nauseously revolting taste of ash in my mouth.
Suffocated. My throat emerged cough.
Blinded now
Seeing just swarthy hands. Those are probably warming.
I am not cut out for smoking
But I want to drink smoke from your lips.
Weed
© Copyright: Марта Стрелецкая, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126010904954
Свидетельство о публикации №126010904954
Рецензии