serenity in smoke.

The city turned yellow before I landed. The softness suits this time. Fingertips tar stained, huddled in aircon, everyone is considering quitting ciggerettes. The drought breathes heavy here, panting like salivating lovers, blowing wind into our crotches and salt onto our lips.

My phone rings at 5am, private numbers invading my sleep. Last night my dreams were located in the rubbish dumps of my childhood, lecturers I've never met insisting I sit for my honours degree. I've become so addicted to salaried nipple that weans me off my youth. Sitting in park swapping love on the dole stories with gentle eyed boys in mid twenties crisis. Staring at clouds in slow motion, making my peace with the city again.