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Cinnamon and Stale Cigarettes
“i love you”
he whispered in her ear
gently tugging with his teeth
that tingle started in her toes
and she thought
“is this really all we are?”
his hand slipped between
silk and goosebumped skin
and the tingle leapt upwards again
his neck smelt of cinnamon
cinnamon and stale cigarettes
“i really do”
he whispered into her chest
silence
her back fell to the bed
crisp sheets crinkled
under the weight of teenage flesh
she looked to the left
and stared at the trees blossoming with spring
pink flowers crept close to the glass
reaching with her finger
she tried to remember
walks they used to take
bridges crossing streams
hand in hand
films they used to watch
laughing at the men on the screen
body heat under a blanket
secrets they used to share
childhood memories
adulthood fears
a gasp escaped his lips
crushing her with reality
a peck on the cheek
a rushed redressing
and he was off
no cup of coffee
no jabber over lunch
nothing
and she thought to herself
“this is really all we are.”
surrounded by cinnamon
and stale cigarettes...
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