Night unspools above the woodlot.
Too long beside the bonfire,
currents of ash,
tangled hair smoky,
clings to her nape.
A little poetry wraps around your grasp,
runs through fingers, gently tugs.
Quick-to-draw long inhale,
breaches, expels, expands screened smoke;
even if a dream,
a weaponized phrase,
an ethical bias for
all that shock; (your elixir) is
language never spoken, never heard,
burnt air vacuous,
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