now the winter is over 

and my cigarette butts litter this city like the poetry on my thighs

I find it impossible to imagine that these streets don’t feel as much loss as I do

that ink doesn’t bleed from their veins

that the crowds aren’t slipping from reality

as they rush past,

clouded and raw with naivety

"This is City Tastes Like Pollution Without You" - Gemma Remple