Gravity pulls the tomatoes from my buds
Climbing into your cigarette.
Feeling. Air. Pressure. In your cheeks
Recreating John Cage
But the suction. Fluction.
Just. My squeeze
Of a filter
Just my filter
Singe my fingertips as my ovaries whine.
Rough. Gums. To torpid tongues
Raucous glurps of water.
Stomach. Choirs. Words.
The hollow palate of sucking.