• Vol. 07
  • Chapter 03

Genealogy of Smoke

What must she have felt when she first put her lips
to it: a rolled textured sheet of paper or vice versa?
Was it still so poisonous, beginning from the slight-
est touch or was it soothing until it hurt? Like snow
/ like warm water? Like men / was it (what is)

masculine enough? Letting off steam. Was it lead,
arsenic, like rain, drenching her to the warmth of her
pale skin, or did it leave her dry, gasping for breath,
gasping for more? And say – did it – did it smoke
the first time she saw it, half coloured, like a

pole, catching her eye? It did, did it not? Or did it
just stop by, pulling her close, asking her to now
warm it / now set it on fire? Now smoke / now puff.