Oh, Mary Jane,
your bitter, sweet taste
still lingers
in my mouth, as you curl
and dance from my drunken lips.

Your shapeless tongue licks
and tickles my nose,
like a saxophone reed
that vibrates sadly
inside this Paris tunnel,
on a sticky
August evening.

I hang on to you,
just to breathe you,
like the Lizard King breathed
poetry, like Elvis breathed
immortality;

not freely, but
in harsh,
sudden,
wonderful bursts
of ecstasy,
as you burn;

and oh,
how you burn,
and scratch
at the walls of my throat…
a poisonous angel, your wings scrape
across my brain.

We stroll among Kings tonight,
Kings who tumbled,
and laughed, and screamed
in this very tunnel,

but breath
no more.

~ by Samantha Lê

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First published in Corridors

Copyright © 2001 by ​Samantha Lê
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